


it's lost in our embraces like stars against the sun

by hihoplastic



Series: and who but you would take me in a thousand kisses deep [3]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Gen, TW: Blood, TW: Violence, tw: torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-10 01:44:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 29,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hihoplastic/pseuds/hihoplastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Getting captured hadn’t been part of the plan, but she admits it’s had its advantages.  </p><p>Guards discuss plans outside her door, and she’s gained more intel in the last four days than she ever could have from the outside.  It’s a run-down place—dirt floors, stone walls, limited technology, save what the Daleks have brought with them.  The station in orbit above the mines used to be a Helkan research centre, before the invasion, and she’s chalked it up to luck that they’ve brought her here instead of one of the Dalek ships.  She thought there’d be more Daleks themselves, but if her suspicions are correct, they’re just dormant.  Waiting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. as the mist leaves no scar

**Author's Note:**

> **WARNING: This fic contains several scenes with graphic depictions of violence, blood, and torture as consistent with POWs. (Think _Syriana_ , the film with George Clooney.) Please proceed with caution. I do not want _anyone_ to be triggered by the contents in this fic. If you have questions, or you want more clarification CONTACT ME and I am happy to give more details, or skip below to the end notes for a list of things this fic contains. Please please please _do not_ read this if there's a chance you'll be triggered.**
> 
>  
> 
> **The whole fic is not like this, but I do not want anyone to be blindsided or worse triggered by the scenes that do feature violence.**
> 
>  
> 
>  **Other Notes:**  
>  \- Thank you very much to Pam for reading over this for me! <3  
> \- Most of the places featured in this fic are real DW-verse locations, that have been expanded upon and fictionalised. Hell is the planet of the Helkans, and was enslaved by the Daleks as according to _Nemesis of the Daleks_ (DWM #152-#155). It also appeared in _Emperor of the Daleks_ (DWM #197-#202). In case anyone was curious!  
>  \- Title and all chapter titles by Leonard Cohen. Main title from _True Love Leaves No Traces_. Chapter title from _As the Mist Leaves No Scar/True Love Leaves No Traces_

_Through windows in the dark_  
 _The children come, the children go_  
 _Like arrows with no targets_  
 _Like shackles made of snow_  
\- Leonard Cohen, "True Love Leaves No Traces"

*

_“Hello, sweetie. If you’re there, pick up. Of course not. You never answer your bloody phone. Never mind, then. Thought you might be up for a bit of adventure—who am I kidding, you’re probably out adventuring right now. Swanning off, saving planets, bringing all the girls to your feet with a flick of your bowtie. I hope that’s where you are, my love. I hope you’re well.”_

\--

A rib cracks and the air whooshes from her lungs. She doesn’t have time to inhale, doesn’t have time to close her eyes before there’s another crack, a boot in her stomach, and she gags. Tries not to scream. She bites her lip to keep the sound tucked away. 

“I’ll ask you again,” she says from the sidelines, face half shielded in shadow. “Where did they—”

River huffs out a laugh. “It’s a shame your methods of extraction are so primitive,” she grits, because Nessa hates to be interrupted. “In the 62nd century they’ve got termites that see into your memories. Well. I say termites, but they’re really more like—”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Nessa nod, and the man above her grabs her by the hair, hauling her to her feet. 

“Again?” she manages, blocking the pain. “Next time I’m shaving it off.”

Nessa’s lips twitch. “There won’t be a next time, Doctor Song.”

“Promises, promises,” she says, just before a fist connects with the back of her neck. Her knees hit the concrete and she winces, but it’s all manageable. Nothing worse than she’s felt before.

“Get it out of her,” Nessa snaps. “I don’t care how you do it, make her talk.”

The man nods, his expression unwavering, and River hears the door slide open and shut, the panel hissing as it locks. 

Staggering to her feet, River appraises the man—Clyde, she’s calling him—with a smirk. “Looks like it’s just us girls. What’d you think? Tea time? Monopoly? Pretty Pretty Princess—” The last word is sucked away as his fist connects with her sternum. 

He has no training. Doesn’t know where to hit or when or what force to use—he’s just big, nearly twice her height, muscled arms and solid torso, his face obscured by a thick helmet, sides encased in the same, shatterproof material. It would be so easy—one blow to the skin beneath his armour, and every time he grabs her arm or her wrist or knocks her head against the wall, she has to remind herself not to react. Not to let her training overtake her. 

It’s a long game, this time, well worth a few bruises. Even if most of them are to her dignity. 

Wheezing, River rights herself again. “Seriously? My mum throws a better punch.”

His expression doesn’t change, and he doesn’t say a word, just grabs her arm and drags her to a chain in the corner, suspended from the ceiling. 

River sighs. “Oh, come on, Clydey. My stretch marks are bad enough as it is—although, there’s a delightful cream on Saturn II that’ll fix it up in no time.” She pauses, considering. “Maybe we should get some for your face.” 

The lock clicks in place above her head, and she wiggles her toes. They don’t quite touch the ground. Her arms are already burning, and her ribs groan in protest, but she smirks, and pushes it aside. 

Two broken thumbs and she’d be free of the shackles. One broken rib, and she could wrap her legs around his neck and twist. The chances of puncturing a lung are higher than she’d like, but doable odds. 

_Patience,_ she reminds herself, as Clyde cracks his knuckles. _Patience._

He pulls his arm back to swing, and River closes her eyes, empties her mind, and lets go.

\--

“Bogota!” he exclaims, throwing a switch on the console. “The planet, not the city. Best Fritanga you’ve ever eaten, on my life.”

Clara snorts. “Rather not bet your life on a plantain, thanks—I’m still getting used to this face.” She pauses, setting the book in her lap. “On the other hand, could you regenerate into a woman?”

The Doctor rolls his eyes at her smirk. “Could do. Still be married, though.”

Clara brightens at the mention of his wife. “You still see her?”

He falters, just slightly. “No. Not since—not since Trenzalore.”

“So not with this face,” Clara says gently, and he nods once, curtly. 

“Might do. Might not.” Skidding around the console, he snatches her book and throws it over the railing. “So! Bogota, yay or nay?”

Clara considers. “Will there be—”

“Cocktails, yes.”

“And cabana boys?”

He frowns. “Why would there be cabana boys?”

Clara shrugs. “I dunno. Seems like they’d go nice with fritangas.”

The Doctor scowls, but she can see his amusement, and clasps her arms behind her back, grinning. 

“Fine,” he huffs. “One cocktail, two fritangas, and a cabana boy coming right up.”

Smacking a kiss to his cheek, Clara smiles. “That’s my Doctor.”

\--

Getting captured hadn’t been part of the plan, but she admits it’s had its advantages. 

Guards discuss plans outside her door, and she’s gained more intel in the last four days than she ever could have from the outside. It’s a run-down place—dirt floors, stone walls, limited technology, save what the Daleks have brought with them. The station in orbit above the mines used to be a Helkan research centre, before the invasion, and she’s chalked it up to luck that they’ve brought her here instead of one of the Dalek ships. She thought there’d be more Daleks themselves, but if her suspicions are correct, they’re just dormant. Waiting. 

She wonders who Nessa was, before. 

Shaking her head to clear the thought, River glances around her cell. Four days without food and water isn’t much to her, but she can feel her body working overtime to compensate. 

Ripping a piece of cloth from the bottom of her trousers, she ties it around her arm in a makeshift tourniquet, covering the wound they’d burned into her skin. It stings, but she pushes it aside. She’ll have time to deal with it later, deal with all her injuries, once it’s over. The shackles clank against one another as she ties it off with her teeth and she leans back against the cold wall, closing her eyes for just a moment. 

Unbidden, she wishes for her father. For his warm hands and careful touch. The nursing kit he carried with him everywhere. _“I wish you’d be more careful,”_ he’d say. She’d smile, and shake her head. _“But careful is ever so dull.”_

A light flickers on and the door hisses open, but she keeps her eyes closed, a smile on her lips. “Back so soon, Clyde? I was afraid I wore you out.”

A whirring sound fills the room, and she isn’t surprised to see Nessa, standing beside a Dalek, its eyestalk fixed on her form. 

“Is this the prisoner?” it intones, and River resists the urge to laugh. 

“Doctor Song,” Nessa replies. “No first name.”

The Dalek scans through its records, and she counts backwards in her head. _Three...two...one…_

The Dalek jitters, lights flashing. “Records discovered. Records indicate Doctor Song is a threat to the Dalek race.” Sliding backwards, the Dalek turns its head frantically. “Kill her! Kill her!” 

River watches, amused, as Nessa turns to the Dalek. “We cannot kill her. She has information on the whereabouts of the slaves.”

“Exterminate!”

Nessa snorts. “She isn’t going anywhere, look at her.”

Turning slowly, the Dalek stares her down through the eyestalk. River raises her chained hand and gives a little wave. “Hello, again. Glad to see your records are up to date this time. Shame your friend wasn’t able to deliver the information personally.”

“Daleks have no concept of friendship.”

River snorts. 

Nessa turns to the Dalek. “We need her alive. She has the location of the Helkans; she orchestrated their escape.”

The Dalek seems to consider, eyestalk rotating back and forth across the cell. “Extract information and exterminate.”

River smirks. “I was so hoping you’d say that.”

Glowering, Nessa watches as the Dalek exits, disappearing down the hallway, and Clyde appears at her shoulder. Turning her attention back to River, she smiles. “We have something new for you today, Doctor Song.” 

Pulling a chair into the room, Clyde bolts it to the floor before dragging her up by her hair. She fights back only minimally, but she isn’t sure if it’s because she doesn’t care, or she can’t. The thought worries her, but she pushes it away. Clyde straps her wrists to the arms. 

“Is it a pony? I always wanted a pony.”

Nessa scowls, but quickly schools her features into one of indifference. “The Dalek archives are incredibly vast. They were able to uncover some...interesting methods.” 

Crouching to the floor, Clyde binds her ankles to the chair before unrolling a swatch of cloth, and River tries to calm her heartbeat as he picks out a silver tool, almost like a pliers. 

“We’ve done our fair share of research on human anatomy since you’ve arrived,” Nessa says, hands folded behind her back. "Human nerves are intriguing, as far as humans can be. This technique began in what you call Medieval times. Hasn’t seemed to have lost its popularity."

"Neither has Journey, but then I never cared for fusion."

Nessa smiles serenely. "Joke all you like, Doctor Song. Clyde."

Before she can blink, Clyde clamps one beefy hand over hers, and with the other, grips the nail on her left hand index finger and pulls. 

Pain spikes down her spine and up her arm and through her head, and it's everything she can do not to scream. He pulls again, and again, until her nail comes off and she gasps, head falling forward as her body goes taught and she jerks. Her hand tries to close reflexively, but Clyde keeps it flat, blood smeared over both their fingers. 

She can't breathe, and her vision blurs until Clyde slaps her hard across the cheek. 

“Did you know there’s a bed of nerves directly under the fingernail, Doctor Song? And apparently major nerve branches from the...what do you call it? Spinal column, I believe, feed into the shoulders, arms, and hands.”

Gritting her teeth, River manages, “Did you know, a ‘coward’ was originally a boy who took care of cows? Since we’re exchanging useless information.”

Nessa’s jaw clenches and she nods, and Clyde grasps another nail and tugs. Her vision goes white, her arm and neck flaring with pain and she it’s all she can do not to cry out or whimper. 

"Doctor Song?" Nessa enquires serenely. 

Swallowing, River raises her head and smirks, though she know her lips are trembling. "What the hell," she rasps, "I’m due for a manicure, anyway."

Lips twitching, Nessa nods to Clyde, who raises the pliers again. 

"Enjoy your afternoon, then."

The doors slide shut and lock, and River steels herself, meeting Clyde's gaze. Just before he takes hold of her nail and pulls, she swears she sees him smile.


	2. she shows you where to look among the garbage and the flowers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- see part one  
> \- warnings still in effect  
> \- chapter title from _suzanne_ by leonard cohen

_There are heroes in the seaweed_  
 _There are children in the morning_  
 _They are leaning out for love_  
 _And they will lean that way forever_  
\- Leonard Cohen, "Suzanne"

*

Sometimes, in her dreams, she sees Kovarian’s face. Feels her hand curl over her little girl shoulders, her fingers tangled in her little girl hands. Sometimes, River remembers Kovarian’s scratchy voice, singing her to sleep. Sometimes the words are jumbled. 

More often, they’re crystal clear. 

“What have I told you, Melody?” she used to snap, when River’s eyes would water with fear. “The anticipation of pain is worse than the pain itself. You need to be ready for anything. You have no idea what he’s capable of.”

“But,” she remembers saying, “Isn’t he a Doctor?”

Behind them, Colonel Manton would snort. “So was Mengele.” 

Shoving the knife into her little girl hands, Kovarian used to step back out of the circle, and give a nod to the soldier. 

“Fight, Melody,” she used to say, “Fight like your life depends on it. Someday, it will.”

\--

_“I don’t—I don’t know why I’m still talking, really. I think I just—do you ever have those days, the ones that put into stark relief the choices you’ve made? Of course you have. I’m having one of those days, I suppose, and I just wanted...I wanted to tell you that I don’t regret it. Not one moment. I know you think sometimes that I do, or that I should. You think I’d have been better off without you. You’re an idiot. You saved me, Doctor. Over and over again. You made me whole.”_

\--

“Doctor, what’s that?”

He glances up briefly from trying to untangle himself from a string of flowers someone threw at him during the Carnaval. “What’s what?”

Clara sets her mask carefully on the jump-seat and approaches the console. “That light, there. That wasn’t there when we left, was it?”

Finally managing to tear the flowers string, grumbling as he rips it off and throws it to the floor, the Doctor huffs up the stairs. 

“There’s always a light, Clara, it’s a TARDIS, there’s lots of lights.”

“But that one looks important.”

“They’re all important!”

He throws the TARDIS into flight, still sore about being dragged into the _Barranquilla_ festivities. He’s much grumpier, this Doctor, but Clara finds she enjoys it—his cynicism and grumbling and absolute refusal to dance. 

Still. 

The light on the console seems to blink brighter, a harsh red in the cool blue of the interior, and she reaches for it without thought. 

The Doctor slaps her hand away. 

“Ow!”

“Don’t touch.”

She glares. “It’s blinking, doesn’t that mean something?”

“Yes,” he grunts, “It means I have glitter in my _hair_ and I need a shower.”

Clara folds her arms across her chest. “There is _not_ a button for that.”

“Is too,” he retorts. “See? Right there.” He points at the blinking button. “Five blinks in quick succession—The. Doctor. Needs. A. Shower. _Perfect._ ”

Stomping up the stairs and muttering under his breath about parties and belly dancing and _stupid bloody flowers—glittery—bloody masks—_ and while it’s amusing, something nags at her. 

Reaching out, she presses the red button, and her breathing stalls. 

_“Hello, sweetie.”_

Halfway up the stairs, the Doctor stills, frame taught like a bow, and Clara slams her hand down on the button again before stepping back from the console. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m sorry, I thought—”

“It’s fine,” he says, his voice flat. He doesn’t turn around. “Play it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Play it, Clara.”

Licking her lips, she inches forward, and tentatively, almost reverently, presses the button. River’s voice fills the room, and the Doctor grips the railing. For a moment, she’s worried he’ll fall. 

_“Hello, sweetie. If you’re there, pick up.”_ There’s a long pause, just the sound of River’s quick breathing, and then a short laugh. _“Of course not. You never answer your bloody phone.”_ The Doctor winces, and Clara watches him nervously, eyes flickering between him and the console, as if River might appear. _“Never mind, then. Thought you might be up for a bit of adventure—”_ She stops, and laughs softly. _“Who am I kidding, you’re probably out adventuring right now. Swanning off, saving planets, bringing all the girls to your feet with a flick of your bowtie. I hope that’s where you are, my love. I hope you’re well.”_

“Stop,” he croaks. “Stop, please, stop—”

Clara rushes to silence the recording, and the Doctor slides to the floor, settling on the stairs with his head against the railing. Cautiously, Clara sits next to him on the step below, and takes his hand. 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean—”

“Not your fault.” His voice is rough, and his eyes bright. “It was—” He takes a deep breath, looking at the console. “It must have been a long time ago.”

“The bowtie?”

He nods. Clara tightens her grip on his hand. “How...how long?”

“Clara—”

“How long has it been, Doctor?” she presses gently. 

Scrubbing his free hand over his face, the Doctor sighs. “302 years." 

Clara squeezes her eyes shut. "I’m sorry."

"302 years, 6 months, 18 days, 11 hours, 43 minutes, 19 seconds."

She looks up at him in surprise. "How—?"

He shrugs, and looks away. "She's my wife." 

Bowing her head, Clara gives him another few moments of silence before standing. “Right then,” she says, wiping her hands on her skirts. “You need to hear this.”

“Clara—”

"She left you a message. Listen to it.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It should be,” she counters, dragging him up by the hand toward the console. “The TARDIS exists in all of time and space, yeah? And River travels through all of time and space.”

“Your point?”

“ _My point,_ Mr. Gumpypants, is that somewhere, right now, out there, River is leaving this message and she needs you to hear it.”

“Not me,” he says, hands gripping the console. “Not this me.”

Clara snorts. “I’ve met your wife, Doctor. I really don’t think she cares what face she gets.”

Wincing, the Doctor shakes his head. “You’d be surprised.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter now, anyway, does it? Your younger self obviously never got this message, so now it’s up to you—”

“She’s _dead_ , Clara,” he snaps, pulling away and dragging a hand roughly through his hair. “All of time and space and my wife is _dead_ and no bloody voice mail is going to change that. It’s over. I can never see her again.”

“Why not?” Clara folds her arms across her chest. “She’s dead and I saw her. She’s not dead everywhere.” The Doctor flinches, and Clara closes the space between them, peering up at him, hands on his arms. “You told me once that she was an ex. Just once. Every time after that, you’ve said ‘my wife.’ Earlier today, you said you’re still married.” Smiling gently, Clara takes his hand and tugs him over to the console, laying his palm on the bright red button. “So be married.”

“Clara…”

“Your wife is calling you, Doctor. Be a _husband._ ”

\--

_Nine months earlier_

Jonataon scrubs a hand over his face, looking at her from across the cave floor with wide, resigned eyes. “It’s useless. Even if we could get everyone to the surface, where would we go?”

“We’ll figure it out,” she says, for what feels like the hundredth time, and Jonataon growls, shoving the hand-made maps away and staggering to his feet. 

“Figure it out _how_?” he snaps. “We’ve got _nothing_. We have no weapons, no ship, no one who can fight worth a damn; there are millions of them, monitoring the planet at all times, and we’ve got what, River? A couple of shovels and three thousand terrified people—”

“—who need us,” she says calmly, looking up at him from her crouched position on the floor. “Three thousand people who deserve a life and for better or worse it’s up to us to give it to them.”

Tugging at his hair, Jonataon shakes his head. “I can’t. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t stare at these maps and schematics and every time it’s the same, every time—every time there’s no hope. I can’t do it anymore.”

Rising to her feet, River approaches slowly, and cautiously places a hand on his arm. He stiffens, as he always does, and she’s careful not to hit any of the bruises or whip marks along his back as she slides her hand over his spine. 

“What choice do we have?” she murmurs. “We made a promise to them.”

“ _You_ made a promise to them.”

“And you made a promise to _me._ ” Circling him, she takes his hands, knowing that her usual confident smirk and enthusiasm won’t cut it this time. “What about Nori?” she murmurs, feeling awful when he winces. “And Sancha?”

“Don’t bring my children into—”

“They’re a part of this,” she reminds him. “They’re the reason you’re here, and if you quit now…” She straightens, her voice harsh, but her hands over his squeeze gently. “If you quit now, you’ll never see them again. They were born in captivity and they’ll die in slavery, all because their father gave up on them. Because it was too hard.” Arching an eyebrow, she looks him in the eye. “Is that the kind of father you want to be?”

Jonataon bows his head. “No,” he whispers. “Of course not. But I don’t see—”

Placing a finger over his lips, River shakes her head. “We’ll get there, Joni. There’s always a way out.”

He chuckles, but it isn’t humored. “How can you be so certain?”

Shrugging, River squeezes his hands once more before returning to the floor, to study the maps she’s drawn over the last year. 

“A wise man once told me so.”


	3. there are no diamonds in the mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s not sure he’s breathing. Not sure he’s taken a breath since he heard her voice over the speakers, clear as if she’d been behind him, teasing him about the stabilisers, his suit, the glitter in his hair and oh, he _wants_ that. He wants it so much it hurts and his ribs feel like they’re caving in around his hearts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- see part one  
> \- warnings still in effect  
> \- chapter title from _diamonds in the mine_ by leonard cohen

_Well, I saw the man in question,_  
 _it was just the other night,_  
 _he was eating up a lady_  
 _where the lions and Christians fight._  
\- Leonard Cohen, "Diamonds in the Mine"

*

“Georgia.”

Clyde throws a fist into her stomach. She coughs. 

“Germany.”

A boot in her stomach. 

“Ghana.”

Nessa’s patience is fizzling. “The location of the Helkans, Doctor Song. _Now._ ”

River looks up at her from the floor and licks the blood off her lip. “I told you,” she pants. “Gibraltar.”

Clyde kicks her onto her back and straddles her waist. She laughs. Clyde pulls a knife from his belt. It’s something she likes about him, she decides—never a shortage of knives. 

“Or maybe it was the Glorioso Islands. Greece. Greenland. Grenada.”

“What the hell is she doing?” Nessa hisses to her assistant, a pale, thin woman with deep-set eyes and a computer in her hand. 

“I—I believe she’s listing Earth countries, Captain. In alphabetical order.”

Nessa sneers. “How long has she been doing this?”

“One hour,” Clyde answers, and River grins. 

“Oh, he speaks! I was beginning to wonder if you talked at all or just didn’t fancy me.” 

Clambering to his feet, Clyde drags her up and hooks her to the ceiling chains. 

“For that, I suppose I’ll give you a clue.”

He stills. Nessa waits. 

“Guadeloupe,” she says, forcing a laugh even as Clyde slams a fist into her abdomen. 

“This isn’t working,” Nessa snaps, turning to the girl with the computer. “Find out who she is. Anything. Make her break.”

“Y-yes, ma’am.”

River coughs and spits blood to the floor at Clyde’s feet. “You could always try the pokers again. Those were ever so toasty. It’s nice to warm up this chilly cell every so often, don’t you think?”

He hits her again, and out of the corner of her eye, she sees the assistant flinch. 

\--

He’s not sure he’s breathing. Not sure he’s taken a breath since he heard her voice over the speakers, clear as if she’d been behind him, teasing him about the stabilisers, his suit, the glitter in his hair and oh, he _wants_ that. He wants it so much it hurts and his ribs feel like they’re caving in around his hearts. 

With a trembling hand, he presses the button, as desperate to hear her voice as he is terrified of it. The recording picks up where it left off, and the first thing he hears is her soft chuckle to herself. 

_“I don’t—I don’t know why I’m still talking, really. I think I just—”_ She pauses, and the Doctor strains, the silence too vast and he needs her voice again, saying anything. _“Do you ever have those days, the ones that put into stark relief the choices you’ve made?”_ He flinches, and then hears her self-reprimanding sigh. _“Of course you have,”_ she murmurs, and it’s apologetic, almost. _“I’m having one of those days, I suppose, and I just wanted…”_ She stops, and coughs, he thinks, though the sound is muffled, as if she’s holding her hand over the phone. The Doctor frowns, and he knows Clara is watching his reactions acutely, but he can’t tear his eyes away from that stupid blinking light. 

After a moment there’s a scratching sound, and River’s breathing over the line becomes louder, clearer. _“I wanted to tell you that I don’t regret it,”_ she says, her voice raspy, like she’s been crying. _“Not one moment. I know you think sometimes that I do, or that I should. You think I’d have been better off without you.”_

The Doctor pales, his face ashen, and Clara holds his arm tightly as he digs his fingers into his palms and sways. 

_“You’re an idiot,”_ she scolds, like she knows what he’s thinking, feeling; as if she can see the expression on his face, and her words loosen something in his chest he didn’t even know was tight. _“You saved me, Doctor,”_ she murmurs. _“Over and over again. You made me whole.”_

\--

They don’t actually find anything, but Nessa isn’t stupid. They drag in a deep barrel of water, and River can’t stop her sharp intake of breath, the kind that pulls on her ribs and tightens her lungs and Nessa almost smiles. 

“Ah,” she says, folding her arms across her chest. “There we are.”

River sets her jaw, but despite herself, she struggles. She fights. Clyde drags her toward the barrel and her feet skid on the stone floor and it’s instinctive, this time. It isn’t a ploy or for show or to keep them guessing. Her denailed fingers claw at his arms and her hearts pound and she doesn’t want this, doesn’t want them to see but they’re drawing closer, and she can see the water, still and dark and waiting for her. 

“Drown her,” Nessa snaps, and she barely has time to throw a punch before there’s a hand on the back of her neck and an arm around her waist and then nothing but water—water in her ears and in her nose and her mouth, sliding along her skin and it should be cool and refreshing but it isn’t, and she struggles. 

She knows, rationally, if she could calm down, she could slow her heart rate, kick in the bypass, and her lungs would do fine for far longer than they’d assume. She could slip away, somewhere quiet and peaceful, until they pulled her out and woke her up and started all over again, but she can’t. 

Her eyes are wide open but there’s nothing to see, just black all the way down, and the voices are muffled and she gags. Water fills her mouth and when she shuts her eyes she sees the beach; the suit; she sees her own hand, her own nightmares, Kovarian’s voice _Fight, Melody,_ but she never meant _them_ , she meant _him_ , fight _him_ but she doesn’t want to, she can’t. She doesn’t want to kill him she wants to love him, and idly she knows she’s kicking, her hands scrambling to get out, and Clyde pushes her head further in. 

Her lungs are searing and her chest aches and she feels the moment one of her hearts stops and then she begins to float. Her body wants peace, but she keeps fighting, until there’s nothing. No pulse. No air. Just black. 

\--

_“Don’t worry. I haven’t been replaced by a robot or given a truth serum. I just—I just had one of those days, and wanted—needed—you to know how much I—I—I wish I could tell you in person, but then you’d probably just flap those limbs around and knock over something important, bless. Anyway, I think you’d be proud of me today. I made the right choice. And I wanted to tell you about it because...because…Oh, you know why. You always know. Right then. Better get back to work. See you around, sweetie.”_

\--

_Three years earlier_

“Rivi, Rivi, Rivi look!” Sancha bounds over to her with a wide smile and a tiny rock, held protectively against her chest. 

River stops, wiping a hand over her forehead before crouching down. “What did you find, little one?”

Beaming at her toothlessly, Sancha looks around fleetingly for guards, then opens her hand. Inside is a small stone, black on one side, silver on the other. It glitters even in the dull light of the caves, and River feels her heart sink. 

“Where did you find this, sweetheart?”

Sancha grins, pointing to a small outcropping, just below one of the mining stations. “Over there! It was buried in the wall.”

Forcing a smile, River takes the stone and turns it over in her hands. It’s warm to the touch. “And you found this all on your own?”

The little girl nods, eager to impress. “I just knew where to look! I found it all on my own, Rivi. Isn’t it pretty?”

River nods, but her breath catches as she notices the guards, thankfully distracted. Rising to her feet, River closes one fist around the stone, and the other around Sancha’s hand. 

“Let’s go find your dad and tell him, okay? But be quiet—we’re not supposed to stop working yet.”

Sancha nods dutifully, biting her lip as River creeps with her over to another section of the mine, and nods her head to Jonataon. He scans for guards, then follows her to a more secluded section of the cave. 

“What’s going on?”

River hands him the stone. “Sancha found this,” she murmurs, holding out the pebble. “I’m sorry.”

Jonataon’s face pales, and his hands shake as he takes the stone from her. “You’re sure?” he whispers. His voice catches. 

Sancha looks between them, confused. “Did I do something wrong?”

Kneeling beside her, Jonataon shakes his head. “No, of course not. But...you can’t tell _anyone_ you found this, okay?”

“Why not?”

“Because...because it’s very special, and a lot of people want it and they might do bad things to get it, okay?”

Sancha frowns, chubby fingers tangled in her torn and gritty trousers. “Like what?”

Jonataon shakes his head, and looks to River helplessly. “I...it’s...don’t think about it, okay?” He finally settles. “Just...don’t tell _anyone_ , and if you find any more of these—” he holds up the stone. “I want you to leave it where it is, okay?”

“But I found it,” she protests. “That means it’s mine.” Her voice rises slightly, and Jonataon looks panicked. 

“I know, I know, honey, but these are very dangerous and I don’t want you playing with them.”

“Your father’s right, little one,” River adds, hoping to stem the tears in the corners of her eyes. “I know it’s hard, because it’s very pretty, but you need to be careful and leave them where they are, okay? Otherwise, the cave spirits might get _very_ cross.”

Sancha’s eyes widen as she looks between the two of them. “The cave spirits?” she whispers. 

River nods. “They’re very protective of their stones. They’re like…” she struggles. “Little...cave babies.”

Jonataon wings an eyebrow over Sancha’s head and mouths ‘cave babies?’ River glowers. 

“Oh,” Sancha says, looking at the stone. “If they’re babies then they probably want to be with their mummies and daddies, right?”

“Absolutely. So. Why don’t we go put this back where we found it, and—”

A commotion from behind the cave turn cuts her off. It’s a guard, looking for them, and River snatches the pebble from Jonataon’s hand. “Go, hide, quickly. Loop around and get back to work, I’ll distract him.”

“River—”

She shoves them both around the bend, just as the guard turns and spots her, leaning against the wall. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

River shrugs, slipping the stone into her pocket. “A nap, what’s it look like?”

Stalking over to her, the guard grabs her roughly by the arm and drags her through the cave. “Get back to work, you slimy piece of—” He raises the whip to strike her, once she’s in view of the others, but a high-pitched scream stops him. 

“Rivi, no!” 

“Sancha!” 

She tries to bolt passed the guard, but he grabs the back of her shirt and throws her to the ground. Jonataon shouts, lunging, but he’s too far. She knows he’s too far, by the angle of the guard’s hand, the crack of the whip; by Sancha, curled into a ball the way she was taught, covering her face. The whip arcs and Sancha screams, and if she were smart, she’d turn away. She’s here for the long run, the long haul, the end result, and there are always casualties but she thinks of the Doctor. Of Melody Pond. She thinks of her father and her mother, and a million stories she’s been told and before she’s fully registered the action, her hand comes up and closes around the guard’s wrist. 

He’s bigger, but she’s stronger, so much stronger than they assume, and he staggers in surprise. Jonataon grabs Sancha and pulls her away and the guard turns on her. River tightens her grip on his wrist, and he drops the whip. 

“Don’t you _ever_ hit a child,” she says lowly, barely loud enough for him to hear. “If you know what’s good for you, don’t you ever _dare._ ”

And then she’s surrounded, five guards, three of them pinning her to the ground and wrestling her away, and the stone falls from her pocket. 

“Baby!” Sancha cries, then clamps a hand over her mouth. The guard turns and spies the stone, his gaze flickering from River to Jonataon, to Sancha, and he knows. She knows he knows, before he says a word. 

“Don’t,” River gasps. 

“Grab the child.”

River fights. She fights and jabs elbows and buts heads but there are more of them now, reinforcements. She’s a match for five, maybe seven in her condition, but ten are too many, and then they’re wrestling Sancha from her father, and they’re all screaming. Everyone is screaming. Sancha for her father, Jonataon for his daughter, River for both of them. She tries to get free, to save her. There are three guards holding Joni and two dragging Sancha away, and she keeps fighting even after they’ve knocked Jonataon unconscious and after Sancha is gone and she fights until one of the guards kicks her in the head, and everything starts to fizzle. 

They leave her there, and she crawls across the floor to Jonataon, gathering him into her lap. He’ll wake up, eventually, but she’s not sure it’s a blessing. Raking her fingers through his hair, more for her own comfort, River leans back against the cave wall and whispers, “I’m sorry.” Over and over, it’s all she can think of to say.


	4. far from flying with the angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She doesn’t quite know why the Daleks can’t seem to remember the Doctor, and she doesn’t mention his name. Doesn’t want to remind them. They know her, know she’s killed countless of their own, but they make no connection, and she’s grateful. Her one weak point, the one secret they might actually be able to exploit, and they can’t remember.
> 
> She almost wants to laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- see part one  
> \- warnings still in effect  
> \- chapter title from _what is a saint_ by leonard cohen

_What is a saint? A saint is someone who has achieved a remote human possibility. It is impossible to say what that possibility is._  
\- Leonard Cohen, "What is a Saint"

*

She wakes on a gasp, coughing up water.

“The location of the Helkans, Doctor Song.”

Nessa’s voice is wobbly, out of focus. Everything is out of focus. Clyde’s hands on her wrists, Nessa in the background. Someone slaps her face, but it still takes her longer than she’d like to adjust, to remember. 

River takes a deep breath. 

“Guernsey.”

This time, Nessa makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat, and River feels oddly triumphant. 

“Drown her again,” she says, her voice nearly crackling. “Do it until she gives up or dies.”

Clyde nods once, hauling her to her feet like a rag doll. 

“Watch the hair this time, will you?” she manages, just before he shoves her under.

\--

He starts to panic. His hearts beat faster and his mind clears and his hand reaches for the scanner before he knows what he’s doing. Something’s wrong. River never leaves messages, other than coordinates (generally for empty pockets of space that she’s jumped into) and he wonders if she’s hurt. If she’s trapped somewhere, or if she’s been replicated or poisoned or has amnesia and if she has amnesia how could she be calling him and all he needs to focus but all he can think is River and hurt and then Clara’s nudging him, a smirk on her face as if she knows exactly what he’s thinking, and he tunes back into the message.

 _“Don’t worry,”_ she laughs, _“I haven’t been replaced by a robot or given a truth serum.”_ Oh.

“Oh.”

Clara rolls her eyes. He flashes her a smile.

 _“I just—I just had one of those days, and wanted—needed—you to know how much I—I—”_ She stops, and he imagines her biting her lip, closing her eyes, looking away. She sighs, and he wishes he could touch her face. Tilt her chin and meet her gaze and know all the answers and give them to her in the palm of his hand, pressed against her cheek. _“I wish I could tell you in person, but then you’d probably just flap those limbs around and knock over something important, bless.”_ She laughs, and despite himself, he smiles. Then frowns at the lack of innuendo that follows. _“Anyway,”_ she breathes, _“I think you’d be proud of me today. I made the right choice. And I wanted to tell you about it because...because…”_ She huffs, and the Doctor looks away, blinking rapidly to dislodge the tear in the corner of his eye. _“Oh, you know why,”_ she murmurs. _“You always know.”_

“No, I don’t,” he whispers, smoothing a hand over the console. He can feel her calm, quiet sadness, just as pure as his own. 

_“Right then. Better get back to work.”_ There’s a pause, but it’s a hesitation this time, until she finally says airily, _“See you around, sweetie.”_ and the voicemail clicks off. 

The Doctor frowns. “What? What’s it?”

Clara chuckles. “You were expecting something else?”

“Bit of ‘I love you’ never hurt anyone,” he grumbles, fingers itching to play back the recording again. As if reading his mind, Clara arches up on her toes and kisses his cheek. 

“I’ll leave you alone for a bit, yeah?”

He smiles, and kisses the crown of her head. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Grumpypants.”

He watches as she disappears down the hall to her room, and waits a long moment before pressing the voicemail button again, and holding it a second longer, so it loops.

Lowering himself into the jumpseat, the Doctor stretches his legs and closes his eyes, hands folded on his chest, and listens. 

_“Hello sweetie."_

\--

She loses track of the hours. 

She’s under water, then unconscious, then awake, then under water again. She counts the countries to stay sane. 

_Mexico. Micronesia. Moldova._ Under. _Pakistan. Palau. Panama._ Under. _Russia. Rwanda. Saint Helena._ Under.

She gets through Earth countries, and starts again on the Federated States of Planet Klampuli. 

Her body gets weaker and weaker, her mind frayed, deprived of oxygen. It’s no less terrifying the fifth time as it was the first, but she can’t give up. There are too many people counting on her to keep this secret, and she will. She isn’t worried about that. 

She’s starting to worry that she might not make it out alive.

The days start to swim together. Nessa gets restless, more violent. Clyde gets bored, and invents new ways of cutting into her body. Her clothes are in tatters, her hair matted, ripping at the scalp. Her hands ache and her wrists are purple, skin torn nearly to bone, but it doesn’t matter. 

She doesn’t quite know why the Daleks can’t seem to remember the Doctor, and she doesn’t mention his name. Doesn’t want to remind them. They know her, know she’s killed countless of their own, but they make no connection, and she’s grateful. Her one weak point, the one secret they might actually be able to exploit, and they can’t remember. 

She almost wants to laugh.

They leave her under longer this time, until she’s completely unconscious, and when they wake her up, only one heart start and it hurts, more than anything, just one heart and she claws at the figure holding her down. They don’t know, and she can’t tell them. 

She’d always thought he was being dramatic, complaining about the times he’d had one working heart, but she understands now. 

Clyde chains her to the ceiling and leaves, and the silence is almost worse than the blows. 

Two dislocated thumbs, and she’d be free, but she can barely raise her head. One eye is swollen shut and her mouth takes like copper, and it’s been long enough, she thinks. Long enough for them to get away. 

The door hisses open, and River steels herself. “Back so soon, Clydey? Thought you were getting bored of me.” Her breath comes in pants, and she can’t raise her neck. 

She’s getting so, so old. 

The door closes, and soft footfalls cross the room. Peering up with one eye, she sees a pair of boots, and baggy trousers. 

“I can’t let you down,” she says, her voice quiet and unsure. Apologetic, almost. “But I—I brought you some food.” River hears the dull clank of a bowl being set on the table. The table with Clyde’s various instruments. “And—” She hesitates, and River uses all her strength to look up. The girl swallows tightly and meets her gaze. “I can clean that, if you want.” She gestures to the gash near River’s temple. 

“Why?”

The assistant shrugs. “It could get infected, you should—”

“Why are you here?”

She fidgets nervously, glancing over her shoulder at the door. 

“I’m just a researcher,” she admits. “A scientist. I never thought—”

River huffs out a bitter laugh. “No one ever does.”

The girl winces. 

“Do you know what they use it for?” River asks, her voice straining. 

“Use what for?”

“Helkogen gas.”

She nods slowly. “It’s a toxin. In moderated doses, though, you can use the microbes to make vaccines. We’ve cured countless diseases already, we—”

“And destroyed how many planets in the process?” she grits. “How many people?”

“No—no, we don’t—”

“They do. The Daleks.” She looks up at the girl through her hair, and can’t help but chuckle. “For a researcher, you seem to have missed quite a lot.”

The girl bristles. “I know what I’m doing.”

River softens. “But do you know what _they’re_ doing?”

She shakes her head. “It’s none of my concern.”

River lets her head drop back to her chest. “All right, then,” she says. “Fix me up.”

She nods, stepping closer hesitantly. The first press of the cloth, steeped in antiseptic, stings so much she nearly passes out, but the shock to her system is enough to get her second heart working. Barely, but working. Her shoulders tighten, but she doesn’t have enough strength to flinch away. 

“Sorry,” the girl whispers. 

She says nothing else, tending to the wound on her head, then her arm, then slowly, painstakingly, tries to clear the blood from her hands. The girl gags when she sees her fingers, and River shakes her head. 

“You don’t have to do that.”

She nods, grateful, and steps away. “There. Bit better,” she offers. “Do you want something to eat?”

River eyes her carefully. “Leave it in the corner, over there where it’s dark.” The girl hesitates, then nods. “What’s your name?”

Setting the bowl in the corner, out of sight, her voice sounds disembodied in the cold room. 

“Doctor Vilakseskano.”

“Mouthful,” River says.

The girl cracks a smile. “It’s a traditional name.”

“I know.”

Faltering, she adds, “You can call me Skano. Doctor Skano.”

“We’re not friends.”

“I know.” Gathering her things, she gives River a slight nod before heading toward the door. 

“You should look it up,” River adds, just before she leaves. “Arkheon, 1287.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s what they’re planning.”


	5. there are stars from another view

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’d confessed, once, over a year ago, that he’d never seen the sky. He’d been born in the caves of Hell and he’d die there, he said. It had taken her months to find the gap, and another few weeks to climb high enough to dislodge the rock blocking the view. It’s small, but there—proof that worlds exist outside the caves, and Jonataon relaxes slightly at the sight of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- see part one  
> \- warnings still in effect  
> \- chapter title from _song to make me still_ by leonard cohen

_No one will call you idle_  
 _For dying with the sun_  
\- Leonard Cohen, "Song to Make Me Still"

*

_Six weeks earlier_

River drags Jonatan into the back of the caves, pulling out the schematics they’ve stored there. 

“You figured it out.”

River nods, unrolling the cave plans and pointing to an exit they’d long figured out would work. 

“We get everyone here, like we planned.”

“And then what?” he groans tiredly. “River, we’ve got no way off the planet. We’ll be sitting geese.”

“Ducks,” she corrects, “but you’re wrong. We do have a ship.”

Jonataon starts to protest, but River rolls her eyes and grabs his hand, pulling him further down the cavernous hallways, to a shaft that goes straight up to the planet’s surface. “Look up.”

“Stars,” he says, his voice cracking. “I see stars.”

He’d confessed, once, over a year ago, that he’d never seen the sky. He’d been born in the caves of Hell and he’d die there, he said. It had taken her months to find the gap, and another few weeks to climb high enough to dislodge the rock blocking the view. It’s small, but there—proof that worlds exist outside the caves, and Jonataon relaxes slightly at the sight of it. 

Gripping his hand, River points. “Look closer.”

Squinting, he watches the sky, until he notices some of the stars are blinking, blue and red, turning in a circle. “What is that?”

River smirks. “Dalek ship. It surveys the entire planet. Particle beam weapons, magnetise beams, missile launchers, hypnosound, cloaking capabilities, and, most importantly—a hyperdrive.”

Jonataon scoffs. “That’s wonderful, but how in the Earth do we get up there?”

“We’re not.” 

Dragging a flustered Joni back to the schematics, River digs deep in the wall and carefully, reverently, pulls out her diary. It’s dusty, but otherwise untouched, and she closes her eyes for just a moment, fingers caressing the spine. 

“What’s that?”

She shakes her head. “Not important. This is important.” Opening to the middle, she shows him the pages. “The Dalek ships are nearly indestructible—they’re completely shielded, and built from the highest grade Urton metal in the universe. The only way to destroy it is to blow it up.”

Joni’s eyes widen. “We’re going to blow up a Dalek ship? Are you insane?”

River laughs. “Certifiable. But no. We’re not—we’re going to bring it down.”

“Bring it—oh, you’ve lost it,” he moans, and River smacks his arm good-naturedly. 

“Shut up and listen,” she scolds. “Every technological device has a fault. The more advanced the technology, the bigger the fault—and Dalek technology is very, very advanced.” Pointing to her drawings, she shows him the underside of the ship. “Right here, beneath the hull, is the gravity stabiliser. Because the ship is in orbit, and it’s primarily a reconnaissance ship, most systems will be shut off to conserve power. If we can destroy the gravity stabiliser, the ship will come crashing down. Straight to us. Like David and Goliath.”

“Who?”

“Never mind. Not the point.”

Jonataon levels her with a look. “The point being we’ll bring the ship down and then be invaded by Daleks?”

River snorts. “Don’t be ridiculous. There are maybe thirty Daleks on that ship, at most. It’s a survey ship, aren’t you paying attention?”

“Thirty Daleks could take out a thousand of us at once! _One_ Dalek could take out thousands of us!”

River snorts. “After all this time, Joni, and you have such little faith in me.”

Jonataon shakes his head, a hand on her arm. “I trust you more than anyone, River,” he admits softly, his thumb ghosting over her skin. 

She offers a small smile. “I know. So trust me now.”

He nods once and lets go, and River opens her diary to a blank page. Using a pencil she’d manage to fashion from bits of rock and string, she sketches out the inside of a Dalek armour. 

“The Daleks are strong, but not indestructible, and they're incredibly sensitive to cold, heat, and pressure."

"So?"

"So," she stresses, "we've for no weapons, as you love pointing out. No fighters. No explosives. But what's the one thing we do have?"

Jonataon frowns for a moment, considering. Then his eyes widen. "Gas." He looks to her for confirmation. "We have helkogen gas. We could pressurise it beneath the surface.”

“So when they crash…”

“When they crash, it’ll release the toxin and freeze them to death but it won’t—"

"Harm the ship."

"And since we have immunity—"

"We'll be able to take control."

"That could work," he breathes, looking at her in awe.

"I know."

"No, I mean, that could actually—" Grabbing her waist, Joni lifts her off the ground in a twirl, and River chuckles. He sets her down but doesn't release her, eyes soft on her face. "You're going to save us all, River Song."

She shakes her head. "You have the hard part. Convincing people—"

"They're ready," he disagrees. "We've been ready, we were just...waiting. For someone to believe."

River smiles gently. "There's always a way out."

He nods, and she can tell by the way he's looking at her that for the first time, he truly believes it. 

She startles when his hand finds her cheek, fingers brushing away a spot of dirt, and she knows if she closed her eyes, even for a moment, she could imagine it was _him_. 

Three years underground, three years without stars. Three years without her Doctor. 

Jonataon leans forward, and she turns just in time for his lips to press against the side of hers.

Pulling back, he drops his hands and sighs. "I'm sorry, I—"

"It's all right."

When he meets her gaze, his eyes are pained, and it's a look she knows. One she's seen so many times in the mirror. 

"You have someone, don't you?" He murmurs. "Out there."

"Yes."

He doesn't press, and she's grateful. "He's lucky, then. More than lucky."

River laughs softly. "He has no idea."

But Joni doesn't smile. "He really doesn't, does he? I can see it in your eyes sometimes. When you think no one's watching." River shakes her head, but he holds up a hand to quiet her. "You don't have to tell me. But will you answer one question?"

"Depends on the question."

"Why are you here?"

River's breathing stalls. 

"You weren't born here. You just showed up one day, picked up a _slicjat_ and started working."

"I told you," she says. "I was bought from—"

"No, you weren't. I believed that in the beginning, but I know better now. You could never be enslaved. You're too smart. You know too much, you—" He shakes his head. "So why? Why us?"

Licking her lips, River debates her answer. She could lie. It would be easy, now, given how much he trusts her. She could tell him anything, with the right voice, and he'd believe her. 

But he's been so brave, so open. She's held him while he cried, after Sancha was taken. They've spent weeks together, drawing maps and making plans, and he's the only one who'd believed her from the start when she said she could help them. He's the only one who, despite the risks, offered to help _her_. 

Taking a deep breath, River meets his gaze and admits, "Because you're wrong. Because cleverness and knowledge have nothing to do with—because I know what it's like to be a—" She can't bring herself to say _slave_. "To not be in charge of your own future."

"You could have liberated us," he counters. "Worked from the outside. It would have been easier."

River shakes her head. "There would have been casualties. Too many casualties, and—and you're right. I could have blown up the ships and drilled a hole through the planet and lead everyone who didn't die to the surface. And then what? Where do you go? What's to stop someone else from coming in, and taking over?" She shakes her head. "Handing someone their freedom doesn't make it real. All your lives, you'd have been looking over your shoulders, waiting."

Jonataon frowns. "So you're saying we had to earn our freedom?"

"No, no, that's not—" River drags a hand through her hair. "God, that's what it sounded like, isn't it? It's not what I mean."

"What do you mean?" he coaxes. 

"I mean—I mean that when I was a little girl, all I did was run away. It's all I could do. And every night I prayed someone would drop out of the sky and run away with me, and he never did. Your children—they were taken from you because they're special. Because they can do something others can't, even if they never wanted to do it in the first place.” Swallowing tightly, River meets his gaze. “And I prayed every night someone would tell me I didn't have to anymore. I'm here for the same reason you are, Joni."

"What's that?"

She smiles weakly. "We can't stand to watch children cry."


	6. this is the poor side of silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We’re going to find your Doctor, River Song. And then you’re going to tell us where the Helkans are—or we’ll kill him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- see part one  
> \- warnings still in effect  
> \- chapter title from _you're not supposed to be here_ by leonard cohen

_You're not supposed to be here_  
 _Not supposed to be looking for me_  
 _This is the poor side of silence_  
 _This is the white noise_  
      _of the abandoned appliance_  
 _This is The Captivity_  
\- Leonard Cohen, "You're Not Supposed To Be Here"

*

It gets to be routine. 

Waterboarding, other torture, drowning, other torture, short break for lunch, waterboarding, other torture. River keeps a schedule by it, but it doesn’t seem to matter to her psyche, every time they drag her toward the dark barrel of water. She can feel her mind shredding, pieces of reality starting to flake off, madness setting in. She isn’t far gone enough not to realise, not to keep her secrets. But she could get there, if something doesn’t change. 

The information she’s gathered, through her own manipulation of Nessa and Clyde, and simple eavesdropping, is invaluable. She knows names and dates, shipping points and clientele. She knows who’s buying the gas and who’s selling it, and from there it won’t be hard to figure out where and when—if she gets out. 

_When_ , her mind corrects, but her body slumps against the wall and heaves, hair dripping, scabs on her fingers coming loose. She closes her eyes and sees a spacesuit, coming to eat her. She opens them and sees Clyde, coming to kill her. 

She laughs. 

Quiet at first, then manic, enough that it halts his movements, and he turns to Nessa, confused. 

“Drown her again.”

Clyde grabs her by the arms, and she tries to fight back but can’t. None of her limbs respond this time, and she needs to get _out._

_Now._

“Captain.” 

Nessa holds up a hand for him to wait, and River rolls her eyes as Clyde holds her there, hovering over the water. 

“I thought I told you never to interrupt me while I’m—”

“Yes, Captain, of course, but I thought you’d want to see this.”

Doctor Vilakseskano hands over a tablet, and for a moment, there’s silence. Then Nessa raises her head and smiles. “Well done, Doctor Skano. It seems we’ve identified our prisoner.” Heels clicking, Nessa approaches, pulling River’s chin up with a firm grasp. “Hello, River Song. For someone with such a name, you’ve a remarkable fear of water.”

“He’s my cousin,” she spits, and Nessa laughs, shoving her head away as she circles her. 

“Doctor River Song. Graduate of Luna University. Archaeologist. Wrote your dissertation on the Time War. Seems you’re a bit of a celebrity. Bit lonely, though, aren’t you? No children. No parents. No family.” She pauses, and River can only see the side of her leg. “It appears, however, that you have a husband.”

“Sometimes,” she manages. 

“Oh, I’ve heard all about your beloved Doctor. I grew up on Calufrax Minor, a pawn planet in the Doctor’s war with the Daleks.”

“The Doctor restored Calufrax Minor.”

“Yes, he did. I was very grateful at the time. Not so much now.” Her forehead glows blue, cracking a bit in the centre, a reminder that whoever Nessa was, she’s long dead. River squeezes her eyes shut, and listens to the tap of her heels as she heads for the door. 

“Find him. Bring him here.” She jerks her head, and Clyde drops her to the ground. River angles herself, just enough to hit him in the side as she falls. She expects the blow to her stomach, but it still hurts, and she curls in over herself, wheezing. 

“We’re going to find your Doctor, River Song. And then you’re going to tell us where the Helkans are—or we’ll kill him.”

River grits her teeth, but doesn’t get a chance to reply before the doors slide closed, leaving only her and Doctor Skano. 

Clutching her stomach, River looks up at her through her hair. “Did you find it? Arkheon.”

“I didn’t look.”

River huffs out a laugh, her muscles screaming in protest. “Pity. Your father must be so proud.”

Doctor Skano glowers. “What do you know about my father?”

River shakes her head. “Figure of speech, love,” she gasps, finally wrangling her tired body to lean against the chair. 

Apparently having decided River isn’t a threat, Skano approaches cautiously. She tends to her wounds, as she sometimes does, and River sits quietly, watching her with one eye. Nothing’s healing as fast as it should, and she knows she’s running out of time. 

“How old are you?”

Doctor Skano shrugs. “Seventeen, maybe eighteen. Why?”

“No reason. You just remind me of someone I used to know.” 

“You?”

River exhales sharply through her nostrils. “Bit cliche, don’t you think?” 

She says nothing, just cleans the last of the wounds she can and gathers her things, tucking them in the pockets of her lab coat. She doesn’t say goodbye, but hesitates at the door, and River sighs. 

“It’s all right, you know,” she says softly. “I understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Why you didn’t look.” She offers a weak smile. “Sometimes it’s easier, the not knowing.”

“We do good work here,” she reiterates, and River shakes her head. 

“No, love. You really don’t. But I forgive you.”

Skano frowns, perplexed, but River says nothing, just leans back against the rickety chair and closes her eyes—the knife from Clyde’s boot, tucked safely up her sleeve. 

\--

The Doctor plays the message again and again. He plays it until his ears ring with her voice and his hearts quiet. Until there's nothing in the room but them. 

He plays it until he hears it, until he can't not hear it, and his throat tightens.

"Clara!"

Scrambling around the console, the Doctor pulls the scanner in front of him and types frantically. 

Clara appears at his side instantly, as if she'd been waiting in the wings, and the Doctor flashes her a tight smile before returning his attention to the scanner. 

"There's something wrong," he says before Clara can ask. "I should have realised earlier—River doesn't leave voicemails, River _never_ left voicemails—unless she was trying to get my attention."

Clara frowns. "Isn’t that what she’s doing now? Getting your attention?"

"Not that kind of attention," he mutters.

Clara’s eyes widen, and she covers a smile with her hand. "Oh."

"Shut up."

"Well, to be fair, her voice alone sounds like that kind of attention."

"Oi!"

Clara holds up her hands. "I'm just saying. That woman could read the phonebook and sound sultry."

"TARDIS Manual."

"Or that."

"No, where's the bloody TARDIS manual?"

"You threw it in a supernova."

"Again?"

"Didn't like the grammar this time. Or was it the font?"

The Doctor growls, taping keys as he tries to get the audio to reroute through the scanner. 

“What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to clear the audio. There’s something in the background, something I’m missing. Aha!” 

After a rather violent jamming of buttons, the Doctor stands back. There’s a click, and a whoosh, and then the recording starts, but her voice has been dimmed, nothing more than a foggy murmur in the background. 

“What are we listening for?”

“Shush.”

There are occasionally soft scrabbling noises, but for the most part it’s quiet. The recording ends, and the Doctor rewinds it, playing it back. 

“Doctor, I don’t understand what we’re looking for.”

“There’s something...there’s something here, right in front of me, if I could just—” He slaps the side of his head. “Bloody hearing!” 

Clara snorts, but wisely says nothing. He plays the recording twice more before she meets his gaze. “I can’t hear anything, Doctor. I’m sorry.” 

He waves a hand. “Not your fault, human ears, worst in the galaxy. Well, second worst, after Barboni pigeons, and they have no ears at all, so I’m not really sure that—” He slams a hand against the console. “Damn her!” he grits, bracing his arms against the console, glaring at the scanner. “If you’d just bloody well say what you mean instead of hiding all the time we wouldn’t need to—and now I’m chasing a bloody ghost because of some bloody message on my bloody fuckin’ answer phone—” He stops abruptly, holding his breath. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” 

He shoves her out of the way and rewinds the audio. “There’s a blip.”

“A what?”

“A blip, in the audio, right here.” 

“I can’t hear any—“

He plays it again, and this time they’re both silent, and he’s so still, so unlike the man she first met. Restrained. In control. He turns River’s voice back on and rewinds it again. 

_“I’m having one of those days, I suppose, and I just wanted…I wanted to tell you that I don’t regret it. Not one moment. I know you think sometimes that I do, or that I should. You think I’d have been better off without you.”_

His face turns ashen, and he scrabbles for the volume, turning it up, tuning her voice out. It’s horribly loud, and Clara winces, plugging one ear as the sound of static and scratches fill the control room, but she can hear the blip this time, easier to pinpoint, and looks at him questioningly. 

“Doctor, is that...is that a heartbeat?” 

He swallows tightly and nods. 

“River’s?”

“Most probably.”

“Well that’s good, right? I mean, it’s a bit fast, I think, but maybe—she said she was adventuring, so—”

“The pace isn’t the problem.”

“Then what is?”

“River’s not human. She was conceived in the TARDIS, in the Time Vortex, her DNA altered to build the perfect—”

“Perfect what?” She lays a hand on his arm. “Doctor?” 

“It’s a heartbeat,” he repeats. “One heartbeat.”

“Then why do you look so frightened?” 

“Because,” he manages, and Clara can tell he’s forcing the words. “River has two hearts.”


	7. show me the place where you want your slave to go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a lie, she knows it is—the Doctor isn’t that easy to find when he doesn’t want to be found, and Skano is a terrible liar. They’re feeding her information, expecting River to capitulate to a gentle hand. 
> 
> Outside, the guards change shift. Even wardens need to eat, she supposes, eyes flickering to their shadows. 
> 
> Three minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- see part one  
> \- warnings still in effect  
> \- chapter title from _show me the place_ by leonard cohen

_Show me the place, help me roll away the stone_  
 _Show me the place, I can't move this thing alone_  
 _Show me the place where the word became a man_  
 _Show me the place where the suffering began_  
\- Leonard Cohen, "Show Me the Place"

*

Sometimes, in her dreams, she sees the Doctor’s face. Feels his hand curl over her little girl shoulders, his fingers tangled softly in her little girl hands. Sometimes, River imagines his voice, singing her to sleep. Sometimes the words are crystal clear. 

More often, they’re jumbled. 

_What you’re going to be, Melody, is very, very brave._

_Your daughter, I hope you’re both proud!_

_No. She will be amazing._

_You have to live it, River. We both do. There are so many things to look forward to—stars and supernovas and galaxies born before our eyes, and I can't regret those times, not one of them. But the truth is, he didn’t deserve you._

_River Song. Melody Pond. You’re the woman who married me._

She flits in and out of sleep, his voice in her head, a smile at the edge of her mouth. 

\--

_Eight days earlier_

It’s simple enough, with the right help. A compressed ball of helkogen gas, fit into the most rudimentary catapult-like devise River has ever seen. She’s not sure it’s even worthy of the name, but it’ll get the job done. She hopes.

They have to build it in the caves, in easy enough pieces to drag with them through the crack in the side of the mountain, and assemble it outside. 

They’ll only get one shot, quite literally—either the ship falls or they do, and River knows what it feels like, now, to be the Doctor. To live for a hair-brained scheme and a prayer, with thousands of lives tucked in the palm of your hands. Fly or fall. 

She checks her calculations again and prays. 

“It’s time.” Jonataon lays a hand on her shoulder. “You should be part of this.”

River shakes her head. “This is your revolution, Joni. Your people.” She pushes him gently in the direction of the contraption. With enough luck, and enough hands and weight, it should propel the compressed gas straight into the gravity stabiliser. There are hundreds of Helkans positioned underground, ready to release thousands of tons of compressed gas the moment the ship hits the surface. It’s insane, and dangerous, and if the mountain crumbles it could kill them all, but they’d decided—no more. 

Nodding slowly, Joni moves back to the lever, where ten people are already gathered, waiting. 

“Sing us a song, then, River,” he says, a teasing lilt to his lips, and River closes her eyes. 

There’s the turn of the planet, the hum of the drills, the wind rustling through the trees. She can feel the air around her slowing, quieting, her breathing evening out. 

You have to listen, River, he’d said. _You have to close your mind and open your senses to everything around you, every breath, every clock tick, every part of time and space, spread out at your feet. You’ll feel planets turn and timelines split apart and collide and the whole echo of the universe, right here._ He cupped her hands, and held them over her hearts. _You can do anything, River Song. Just listen._

Above her, the Dalek ship turns lazily in orbit. 

One shot. 

A tilting planet. 

A moving target. 

Below her feet: three thousand, seven hundred, and forty nine people. 

Waiting.

_Then we’ll hold hands on the way back up._

_My bespoke psychopath._

_Don’t run. Now I know you’re scared, but never run when you’re scared—rule seven._

_I’m quite besotted with you._

She opens her eyes. 

“Fire.”

\--

This time, they want to know how she brought down the ship. How they coordinated, who was involved. 

River answers in nursery rhymes. 

“Three thousand people!” she hears Nessa shout from behind the door; the sound of Clyde sharpening his knives in the background. “How do three _thousand_ slaves just disappear in the middle of the night! You find them! Find them _now!_ ”

River chuckles to herself, and answers their demands in riddles. 

It’s another two days before Doctor Skano returns, sneaking in while the Captain is away.

“You’re dying, you know,” she says quietly, gingerly cleaning a scab on her arm. “Your body can’t take this much longer. You should give them what they want.”

“So they can execute or re-enslave three thousand people? I’m fine dying, thanks.”

“So it’s the number that matters?” she inquires, seeming genuinely curious. 

River shakes her head. “No. Not really.”

“So you’d do the same for half that number?”

Wincing, River rasps, “I’d do the same for one person.”

“Why?” When River doesn’t answer, Skano sighs. “They found him, you know. The Doctor. He’ll be here soon. If you want to save him, you should tell them. Quickly, before—”

“Before what?”

Skano hangs her head. “Before they hurt him.”

It’s a lie, she knows it is—the Doctor isn’t that easy to find when he doesn’t want to be found, and Skano is a terrible liar. They’re feeding her information, expecting River to capitulate to a gentle hand. 

Outside, the guards change shift. Even wardens need to eat, she supposes, eyes flickering to their shadows. 

Three minutes.

“You’re good, you know,” River says after a pause. “They trained you brilliantly, whoever they are.” 

Skano frowns. “What do you mean?”

“All the guilt. The inner torment. Very well acted, I have to say. Almost had me.”

Sitting back on her haunches, Skano regards her blankly. “I don’t understand.” 

“I didn’t either, at first. And to be honest I’m still not sure—if you’re one of them, or still you. I suppose it doesn’t matter.” 

“What do you mean, one of them?”

“Like the Captain. Like Clyde. Like most everyone aboard this ship. Part Dalek.” 

Her eyes widen fractionally. “I’m not a Dalek.”

“Could be a sleeper.”

“I’m not a Dalek.”

River shrugs. Two minutes, nine seconds. “Maybe not, but you certainly act like one.”

“Excuse me?”

“Arkheon, 1287. The Daleks will use helkogen gas to burn the planet, but it’ll cause a temporal fissure in the planet’s core, and all the dead will be trapped. Nineteen million. Circling forever, like ghosts. Aurus, a human planet, had to be destroyed to keep it from falling under Dalek control. A thousand people died. Earth. Kempel. Vulcan. There isn’t a planet in this system that hasn’t been marred or destroyed by the Daleks, and I presumed you of all people would understand that.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re Helkan, aren’t you? Or you were.”

Skano freezes, staring at her with wide eyes. “How could you possibly know that?”

“Because,” River murmurs, almost gently. “You look just like your sister.”

Skano’s lips part and she inhales sharply. “How—how do you know—”

“Hmm,” River muses. “Not Dalek after all, then.” At Skano’s expression, she adds, “Your programming would have taken over the moment you felt anything. Anything real, at least.”

“I—how do you know my sister?”

“It’s a long story, Doctor Vilakseskano. And I’m sorry. But I haven’t got the time.”

Before she can ask why, River lunges, the knife she’d taken days ago from Clyde’s boot in her hand, and with more strength than she really feels, hauls them both to their feet, her arm tight around Skano’s neck, the knife pressed to her throat. 

“Dreadfully sorry about this,” she says, and wishes she didn’t mean it. “But I’m going to need you to open the door now, love.”

Skano wheezes, unable to breath with River’s arm against her windpipe. She claws at River’s arm, and she winces, the girl’s nails digging into her bruised skin. Dragging her over to the panel by the wall, River tightens her grip around her neck until Skano relents. It’s fingerprint identification, and the door slides easily open. 

One minute, nineteen seconds. 

Dragging Skano down the hall, River pushes all thoughts of pain to the very back of her mind. She’s aware that her muscles are contracting and burning, that her skin is tight and crusty scabs are opening; she can feel blood trickling down her arm, but shoves it away. There’ll be time later. 

She moves as quick as she can, though the make-shift braces around her fractured ankle and broken ribs don’t help much, and neither does Skano’s weight as she tries to fight her way out of the headlock. 

Somehow, she manages to make it to the control room. There are two guards on duty, and one scientist, packing up his things. They freeze when they see her, then start. The scientist goes for the emergency controls, but he’s easily subdued with an elbow to the head, and the first guard gets a knife to the throat, thrown from halfway across the room. Skano tries to scream, and River throws her toward the console just as the second guard lunges, just in time to duck, for him to stumble past her. Her bones protest and her vision goes blank with pain, but she still knows where he is—his height and weight and weak points and it’s one knee to the throat and a kick to the head and he’s unconscious. 

Skano scrambles to her feet, eyes wide, and for a moment, River hates the terror she sees there. 

“Lock the door,” she says flatly. “Now.”

Nodding, the girl scrambles to the controls, locking it from the inside, while River steps over the first guard’s body, and pulls the knife from his throat. 

She hadn’t wanted to kill anyone. 

“What—what now?” Skano whispers. 

Straightening, River wipes the knife on her shirt and tightens her fingers around the handle. 

Four seconds. Three.

“Now,” River smirks. Two seconds. “The real fun begins.” 

One.

_Zero._


	8. and here’s a man still working for your smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a moment, there’s silence. Just the echo of the TARDIS, the click of the voicemail repeating the message.
> 
> _“Hello, sweetie. If you’re there, pick up.”_
> 
> “I’m here,” he whispers, eyes screwed shut. “I’m here, River. _Please._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- see part one  
> \- warnings still in effect  
> \- chapter title from _i tried to leave you_ by leonard cohen

_I tried to leave you_  
 _I don't deny_  
 _I closed the book on us_  
 _At least a hundred times_  
\- Leonard Cohen, "I Tried to Leave You"

*

“Come on, come on, come on!” The Doctor hits the scanner, typing frantically, trying to find the signal. “I know you can trace it just—fucking—”

“Doctor—”

“You sent me this for a reason,” he says, still talking to the TARDIS. “You saved it, I know you did, for this me, _now_ , and I have to find her. You have to tell me where to—”

The scanner blinks, “Coordinates Unknown” and the Doctor slams his fist into the console. Clara jumps. 

“Tell me where she is!”

“Doctor! You need to calm down!”

Pulling his sonic from his pocket, the Doctor scans the receiver. It blinks back at him, the same, steady blue. He curses, and tries again. 

“Doctor, maybe you’re wrong. Maybe it was just a message, out of time, maybe—”

“Her heart wouldn’t just stop working,” he snaps, skidding around the console to pull a lever. Leaning over, he yells at the blinking light, “If you weren’t so bloody stubborn and just asked for some goddamn help every once in a while—”

“Doctor!”

“Tell me where she is! Tell me now, tell me—” He inhales, trying to breathe, blood pounding in his ears as he chokes. “Tell me, _please._ Tell me. Tell me.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Just the echo of the TARDIS, the click of the voicemail repeating the message. 

“ _Hello, sweetie. If you’re there, pick up._ ”

“I’m here,” he whispers, eyes screwed shut. “I’m here, River. _Please._ ”

The scanner flashes, and Clara grabs his arm. “Doctor, look.”

Swinging around to the other side, he types furiously, and after a pause, coordinates appear on the screen. 

“Go,” he says. 

The TARDIS lurches into flight, throwing them both against the railing. Clara clings to the bars, while the Doctor latches onto the console, pushing buttons, pulling levers, guiding the flight through the vortex. 

“Hurry,” he whispers, and swears the TARDIS complies. 

\--

Alarms blare and boots hit the ground and River pulls the knife from where she’d slammed into the door panel, locking them in. She staggers over to the controls in the centre of the room, throwing a quick glance to her left. “Don’t even think about running,” she says, knife pointed at Skano. The girl freezes, standing stock still by the wall as River’s free hand flies over the screen. There’s not enough firepower to take out the Dalek ships surrounding the station, but there are other ways. 

“The bigger the technology,” she murmurs to herself, “The bigger the fault.”

Hacking into the system is child’s play, and River keeps one eye on Skano out of the corner of her eye. Her hands smear blood over the controls, but she wipes it away with her shirt. 

“What are you doing?” Skano asks, voice trembling. River almost feels sorry for her. 

“Did you know, when the Daleks convert another species, it leaves behind a trace residue in their skin?” She keys in commands. “Not that I’m prejudiced or anything, but—“ Reaching out, she grabs Skano’s free hand and holds it against the fingerprint controls. It beeps twice, and a holographic display of information appears. Sighing in relief, River releases her. “Good. Not Dalek, then.”

“I told you I wasn’t—“

River snorts. “You’re not exactly trustworthy at the moment.”

“And you are?”

River smirks, but doesn’t answer. She’s had a lot of time to think, to prepare, but it still takes time to type in the code she’s already written in her head, one to block anyone who’s turned Dalek from using the escape pods. Above her, the alarm blares, and her head pounds, but she can’t let even one of them escape, not with the Pathweb they share. Not with their information on her. On the Doctor. 

Keying in the last command, she sighs in relief. Even if she dies here, they’ll never find him. They’ll never remember he mattered. 

Moving on, she switches consoles, closer to Skano. 

“What are you doing now?” 

“Setting the self-destruct.”

Skano pales. “But we’re trapped in here.” 

River grimaces. “That’s rather the point.”

Guards bang against the door, trying to pry it open, and it’s enough of a distraction for Skano to move. Faster than River expected, she snatches a weapon from the unconscious guard’s holster and holds it between shaking hands. 

“I can’t let you do this.”

“Don’t worry. There’ll be plenty of time for the scientists to evacuate. Except the Captain, and good old Clydey.” She shrugs. “They’re sealed up in their rooms. Bit of a score to settle.”

Skano waves the gun wildly. “You can’t do this.” 

River’s expression softens. “Have you ever held a gun before?” 

Her eyes dart to the weapon, then back to River. “I know how to use it,” she insists. 

River nods. “I’ve no doubt you do. But in the time it takes you to decide to use it, I can kill you.” She gestures with the knife. “And I don’t want to do that.”

“Why?” She raises her head defiantly. “You’ll kill everyone else.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“How? How would I know that?”

River tries to smile. “Because your father knows.”

“I haven’t seen my father in years.”

“I know. He says hello and goodnight.”

Skano falters, her grip on the weapon slackening. “You—” She staggers backwards. “It’s you. You’re the message.”

River nods. In the back of her mind, there’s a countdown—two minutes, and the guards will have the doors open. Three, and she’s dead. 

“He said—he said he was sending me something, something to help, but I—I don’t understand. How can you help me?”

“I can take you home.”

“This is my home.”

River looks away. “Then he was wrong. If you—” She inhales sharply when she moves, her ankle throbbing. “If you’re so lost that you think this—if you think war is more important than family, then he was wrong. I can’t help you.”

“It’s not war. We’re scienti—”

“Wake up!” River snaps, slamming a hand on the console. Her whole arm throbs at the gesture, and her vision whites out for a moment. “You work for the Daleks. They’ve enslaved your people for centuries to mine a gas that they use to kill everyone they can. They took you from your family when you were a child, because you were born with a gift, and now you’re here. You’re not a scientist, Doctor Skano, you’re an executioner.”

Skano tightens her grip on the gun and aims it at River’s chest. “You don’t know anything about—”

“I know your father, Joni. Your sister. She’s like you.”

“No. You’re lying.”

“Why? Why would I?” River huffs out bitter laugh. “Look at me.” Skano’s eyes flicker over her form, then away. “No, look at me. I’ve been here ten days. I’ve been burned and stabbed and drowned, over and over and _over_ and the only reason I didn’t escape is because you weren’t ready. You’re still not, but you brought the Doctor into this. You told them who I am, and who he is to me, and believe me when I tell you I couldn’t give a damn whose daughter you are, if any harm comes to him.” 

Skano swallows tightly. “Why should I believe you? It could be a trick.”

“To do what?” River sighs. One minute. “Your father sent you a message. He’s been looking for you, all this time. Here’s your chance. Your choice. You can come with me to see your family again, build a new home somewhere, a free people. Or you can kill me. You can kill me, and let the Daleks find a new race to enslave, and never see your father or sister ever again. It’s up to you. Your choice.”

Skano watches her, eyes wide, hands shaking on the gun. Her finger itches at the trigger, but she doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. 

River turns, and keys in the self-destruct, and slams the knife into the control panel. 

The door behind her opens. 

Someone screams.

River barely has time to turn around when there’s a shot, and it takes her a moment to register the searing pain in her side, but then the guard raises his weapon, and River drops to the floor, grabs the leg of a nearby chair and smashes it into his leg. When he hits the floor, she kicks him in the nose. 

Above them, the alarm intones: “Warning. This ship will self-destruct in ten minutes. All personnel please exit via your assigned ferry.” Lights flash, and the remaining two guards take one look at the console, one look at River, and run. 

River chuckles, gripping the console as she tries to drag herself to her feet. Her side screams in protest, and she can’t swallow a whimper in time. Pressing her hand to her side, she winces. 

“Nice shot,” she pants. Skano drops to her side, hands shaking violently. “Unless you were trying to kill me, in which case it’s a lousy shot. Aim for an artery next time.”

“I didn’t—I didn’t mean—”

“It’s all right,” River murmurs. “I’ll be fine. Just get me something to tie it off with.” 

Skano looks over her shoulder. The doors have shut again, and she scrambles to her feet, trying to pry them open. 

“Break the chair,” River manages. “Use it as a wedge.”

She does as instructed, but it’s a small, unstable gap, and then chair leg whines under the pressure. 

“This ship will self destruct in nine minutes.”

“Skano.”

The girl looks over at her, then at the alarms. “I—I have to get to evac.”

River shakes her head. “I have a ship. We can leave together. I’ll take you with me, I promise. To your father.”

Hesitating, Skano steps forward, close enough to touch. She stares down at River, her eyes wide and tear-filled, and for one, brief moment, River believes. 

Then she leans over, tugs the knife from the console, and shakes her head. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, River.” 

And then she’s gone. The chair leg whines before cracking, and the doors seal shut, not that it matters. Closing her eyes briefly, River gathers the rest of her strength and hauls herself to her feet, staggering around to the side of the console. Her hands stutter along the edge as she tries to keep herself upright, each step worse than the last, until her fingers settle on the transceiver. She just manages to key in the number before she slides to the ground, breathless. 

“Please,” she whispers to herself, hands shaking as she lifts the microphone. “Please, just this once. Answer the phone, my love. Please.”

On the seventh ring, it clicks to voicemail.


	9. and those who have been betrayed come back like pilgrims to this moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She doesn’t move. Eyes closed. Her hair is matted with blood, face bruised; there are angry scars on her arms and neck and burn marks on her shoulders and her hands are covered in blood. Clara gags, holding a hand over her mouth, eyes wide and wet as the Doctor slaps River’s cheek gently, then skims his hands over her body.
> 
> “Sweetheart?” The word catches in his throat. “Come on, River, wake up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- see part one  
> \- warnings still in effect  
> \- chapter title from _welcome to these lines_ by leonard cohen

_I've removed whatever_  
 _might give comfort to the enemy_  
 _we are alone_  
 _until the times change_  
 _and those who have been betrayed_  
 _come back like pilgrims to this moment_  
\- Leonard Cohen, "Welcome to These Lines"

*

The TARDIS lands with a thud, and the Doctor takes off for the door, heedless of Clara, scrambling behind him. 

Outside is chaos. 

An alarm bell rings shrilly, and people are fleeing for exits at the urging of a monotone voice: “This ship will self-destruct in eight minutes. All personnel please exit via your assigned ferry. Warning. This ship will self-destruct in eight minutes. All personnel—”

“This way,” the Doctor says, grabbing Clara’s hand and tugging her in the opposite direction. They wind through corridors, taking stairways three steps at a time. Clara struggles to keep up, but he doesn’t let go of her hand, not once, pulling her through the hallways.

“Where are we going?”

“Self-destructs are usually initiated from the command center.”

“And you think that’s where River is?”

His jaw clenches. “I know that’s where she is. Who the hell else would blow up a ship while they’re still on it?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Clara mutters, “You?”

“Exactly.”

She yelps as he turns a particularly harsh corner, and the warning rings in her ears: 

“This ship will self destruct in six minutes.”

The hallways widen out, the people already gone. A lone straggler runs past them, panting, but doesn’t stop. Doesn’t try to stop them. The Doctor makes a sharp left, and then a right, and then skids to a halt in front of a set of imposing grey doors. Letting go of Clara, he slams his hand on the panel to open the doors, and nothing happens. Cursing, he digs for his sonic while Clara peers over his shoulders through the tiny window. She can’t help the gasp that escapes her throat as she backs away, and the Doctor turns on her. 

“What?”

“She’s in there. Doctor, she’s—”

He looks, and his eyes widen and his hands almost shake as he aims the sonic at the panel. “Stand back, stand back!” 

She does, grateful for the warning when the control panel sparks, charred, and the doors hiss open. He doesn’t wait for her, barreling into the room. He can’t see anything else. Doesn’t hear anything. There’s no sound save for his uneven breathing, and his knees hit the floor harshly as he reaches for her. 

“River.”

She doesn’t move. Eyes closed. Her hair is matted with blood, face bruised; there are angry scars on her arms and neck and burn marks on her shoulders and her hands are covered in blood. Clara gags, holding a hand over her mouth, eyes wide and wet as the Doctor slaps River’s cheek gently, then skims his hands over her body. 

“Sweetheart?” The word catches in his throat. “Come on, River, wake up.”

“Doctor,” Clara whispers.

He slides his fingers over her pulse—one heart, beating threadily. Slowly. Far too slowly. He shakes her harder. 

“River.”

“Doctor, your hands.”

“What?”

“Your hands. Doctor, they’re—”

He looks down. His fingers are wet and red. 

“No.” He shakes his head, pressing his hands against the hole in her stomach. “No, you are not allowed to die here, do you understand me? You wake up right now, River Song, so I can wring your bloody Time Lord neck and—”

“Here.”

He looks up, in time to see Clara rip the bottom of her dress in a large swatch of cloth. “We have—” She closes her mouth and winces at the smell. “We have to tie this around her, like a tourniquet. We have to get out of here.”

He doesn’t pause to thank her or kiss her head like he usually does, and she doesn’t care. Together, they fasten the cloth around River’s waist and secure it tightly. It soaks through almost immediately. The Doctor shrugs out of his coat and wraps it over her shoulders, to ward off shock. A small device, like a transceiver, falls from River’s hand. 

“Warning. This ship will self-destruct in two minutes, twenty seven seconds.”

“Run,” he tells Clara. “Run now, fast as you can, back to the TARDIS. She’ll take you home.”

“What about you?”

Standing, he moves over the controls, eyes scanning the codes River’s programmed. _Oh, you clever girl_ , he thinks, dropping back to her side to press his hands to her wound. He doesn’t move for a long moment, and behind him, Clara’s eyes widen. 

“Doctor, we need to go.”

He doesn’t answer, too focused. He doesn’t have enough regeneration energy from the last go around to heal her completely, but he can help. Just a little. Just enough, maybe, to buy her some time. Behind him, Clara panics. 

“Doctor—“

“Go, Clara,” he grits, squeezing his eyes shut. Just a little more. 

“No!” she snaps, pulling at his shoulder. “I have watched you do a lot of stupid things for noble reasons but I’m not about to let you do a noble thing for a stupid reason. You’ve told me about her, about your wife, how your lives are back to front, but that’s not true, is it? You think if you die here, you’ll somehow rewrite time, that she won’t make it to the Library and neither of you will have to live through that, well you’re right. You won’t live through any of it. You keep saying your wife is dead. Well she’s not dead everywhere and she’s not dead now, so you get your—your—wrinkly Scottish arse off that floor and you run! _Now!_ ” 

“Warning. This ship will self destruct in one minute, fifty nine seconds.”

“Go!” 

“Doctor!”

Scrambling to his feet, he turns just in time for her to see the golden energy die off as he scoops River into his arms as carefully as he can. “For God’s sake, Clara, I’m right behind you, now go!”

Clara’s eyes widen fractionally before she turns on her heel and runs. 

The Doctor follows, faster than he’s ever run, timelines pounding in his head, echoes and centuries condensed into moments and River, heavy against his chest. Clara keeps looking over her shoulder, like they’ll disappear, and he wants to hug her, his impossible girl. 

“Left, go left!”

She turns without question, and the shortcut buys them time. 

“This ship will self-destruct in one minute, twenty-eight seconds.”

“Faster!” Clara shouts, skidding around the halls. 

The Doctor looks down at River, one eye closed, one eye sealed shut. “Come on. You and me,” he pants. “One last run.”

“Doctor, the pods!” 

He looks up. There’s one empty evac-ferry left on this level, and he nods. There’s no time to get to the TARDIS. 

“My pocket, my pocket.”

Clara digs for his screwdriver. “What do I do?”

“Lock the TARDIS, put up the shield.”

“How?”

“Just think it!”

Squeezing her eyes shut, Clara points the sonic at the ceiling and it whirs, sparking lights and charring out panels around them. 

“Good,” he says, “Now use it to open the—”

Clara turns, and there’s a woman standing at the panel, her coat torn, eyes wide, a knife in her other hand. There’s blood smeered down her arm, and Clara steps forward. 

“Are you all right? You’re hurt.”

“They’re coming,” she says, her voice trembling. “They’re—they’re not—She was right.”

“Who was right? Who’s coming?”

“They’re Daleks. They’re all Daleks.” 

“She’s in shock,” Clara says, taking a tentative step toward her. 

“It’s okay, we can help—“

“I’ll fight you,” she says, though her voice wobbles. 

The Doctor shakes his head. “You don’t need to. Just, please—take her with you.” He nods to Clara, who immediately protests. 

“What’s that?” She gestures at the Doctor with the knife. “What is that, what do you have?” 

Clara steps back, further shielding the Doctor from the woman’s frantic gaze. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “I—” He looks down at River. She looks peaceful, almost. “My wife,” he says, his throat tight. “It’s my wife.”

“She’s hurt,” Clara says. “Please, take her—”

“River?”

The Doctor’s head snaps up, eyes narrowed. “How—”

“Is she dead?”

“No.”

The girl hesitates. 

“Warning. This ship will self destruct in forty-nine seconds.”

“You’re the Doctor, aren’t you?”

He nods. 

“And she’s—she’s your wife?”

“Yes.”

“You came for her.”

“Yes.”

The girl licks her lips. 

“Warning. This ship will self destruct in twenty-eight seconds.”

“Clara, get in the pod.”

“No.”

“Clara—”

“Take it,” the girl says, stepping away. The doors behind her are already open. “Take her and go.”

“Come with us.”

She shakes her head. “There’s no room. Three is pushing it. You’d be better off if you left her behind.” She points the knife at Clara. “Go. Before I change my mind.”

“Why?” Clara asks, while the Doctor hesitates. “Why would you do that?”

“I’m making my choice,” she answers. It’s not enough, not nearly, but one look at River’s face and the Doctor’s legs are moving, even as his head screams at him to stop. He ushers Clara into the evac-ferry, then turns. 

“What’s your name?”

She hesitates. “Nori. Doctor Nori Vilakseskano. I’m Helkan.” 

The Doctor gives her one last nod. “Thank you, Nori Vilakseskano.”

“Tell my sister I love her,” she calls, almost as an afterthought, as the doors are closing. The Doctor tries to call back, but the pod seals and ejects, and Clara turns away, closing her eyes against the blinding light.

\--

_Twelve days earlier_

“I found her,” Jonataon whispers, eyes bright for the first time in years. “She’s on a ship above the planet, they transferred her there eight months ago from the mines.”

“You’re sure.”

“As sure as I can be.”

River nods. It complicates matters, but not ridiculously so. “I can go in after you’re in hyperspace. The Dalek ships can’t remain in orbit, anyway—they’ll either follow you, or kidnap others to replace you.”

“You’re going to blow them up? All of them?”

River smirks. “I always enjoyed a good firework show.” Joni frowns, and River grasps his hands. “I’ll find Nori, and meet you on New Helkan.”

“I’m coming with you.”

River shakes her head. “You need to find Sancha. An operation this big, Joni, we have to make sure no one gets left behind, especially the children.”

“I owe it to her, to Nori. I have to save her—”

“You will,” River insists gently. “You will, by finding her sister and keeping the both of you safe and leaving the reconnaissance and extraction missions to me, okay?” Jonataon snorts, but River squeezes his hand tightly. “I’ll get her out, Joni. I promise. I won’t leave without her.”

He falters, mind and heart at war, before he finally nods. “Okay. Okay I—I trust you.”

River smiles. “Good. Now, can you send her a message?”

“I think so. It’ll take a few days.”

“That’s fine, as long as it gets to her. Something I can tell her, so she’ll know I’m there to help.”

Jonataon considers for a moment, then half-smiles. “Tell her hello and goodnight.”

“Hello and goodnight?”

“It’s from an old folk song, one her mother used to sing.” He hums for a moment, then blushes under River’s gaze. “She’ll—she’ll understand. I’ll get it to her.”

“I know,” River murmurs. “I trust you.”

\--

_Twelve minutes earlier_

River takes a deep breath. “Hello, sweetie,” she says, as brightly as she can. “If you’re there, pick up.” Pause. Nothing happens, and she sighs. “Of course not. You never answer your bloody phone.” Wincing as she shifts, River swallows a gasp. “Nevermind, then. Thought you might be up for a bit of adventure—who am I kidding, you’re probably out adventuring right now. Swanning off, saving planets, bringing all the girls to your feet with a flick of your bowtie.” Her head feels light. “I hope that’s where you are, my love. I hope you’re well.” She closes her eyes briefly, and when she opens them again, the room starts to spin, so she shuts them. Closes her eyes to everything around her, quiets her mind. She’s vaguely aware of the alarms blaring, and people fleeing, but in here, it’s almost silent. 

“I don’t—I don’t know why I’m still talking, really. I think I just—” She should hang up, she knows that. Shouldn’t give him cause to worry. But she’s always wanted to have him with her, at the end. Selfish, she knows, but maybe this is best for both of them. “Do you ever have those days, the ones that put into stark relief the choices you’ve made?” Scolding herself as soon as she says it, River snorts quietly. “Of course you have. I’m having one of those days, I suppose, and I just wanted…” 

Her voice trails off as her breathing hitches, and she presses the receiver to her chest as her heart gives out, smothering the sound as she cries out. Her arms and right leg go numb, and she can feel her kidneys failing, her lungs expanding, second heart beating double time to compensate. She’s lost too much blood, she knows—even if she could stand, even if she could find an escape pod and get away, it wouldn’t matter. She’d be dead before anyone found her.

She has to admit, she never imagined dying for such a worthy cause.

River brings the transceiver back to her lips, but the words don’t come. She doesn’t know what to say, how to tell him goodbye without actually telling him, because he’d never forgive himself for it. He’d never forgive her. Her vision blurs, but she isn’t sure if it’s from blood loss or tears. She takes a deep breath, and tries again.

“I wanted to tell you that I don’t regret it. Not one moment. I know you think sometimes that I do, or that I should. You think I’d have been better off without you. You’re an _idiot_ ,” she scolds, imagining the guilt-ridden expression on his face when he hears. If he ever hears it. “You saved me, Doctor,” she murmurs. “Over and over again. You made me whole.” _Even if you couldn’t save me this time,_ she adds, but silently. He’ll know. Without her saying it, he’ll understand. 

“Don’t worry,” she adds, laughing at the vision of him in her mind’s eye. “I haven’t been replaced by a robot or given a truth serum. I just—I just had one of those days, and wanted— _needed_ —you to know how much I—I—” She wants to tell him. Wants to say it with ever fiber left in her, but he’ll know. He always knows. So she avoids the words, even as it kills her. “I wish I could tell you in person, but then you’d probably just flap those limbs around and knock over something important, bless.” She chuckles, and part of her registers that she’s supposed to make a joke now, supposed to flirt, but her second heart is failing, and it’s getting harder and harder to speak. She needs to go, before he figures it out. Before she gives it away. 

“Anyway, I think you’d be proud of me today. I made the right choice. And I wanted to tell you about it because...because…” She huffs. “Oh, you know why. You always know.” _I love you. I miss you. I’m sorry._ “Right then. Better get back to work.” She hesitates, words falling from the tip of her tongue. Instead, she says, as lightly as she can, “See you around, sweetie,” and severs the connection. 

Above her, the alarm blares. “Warning. This ship will self-destruct in four minutes.” 

_Goodnight, sweetie._


	10. Now a name that saved you has a foreign taste, a foreign body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With shaking hands, he lifts her wrist, bruised and lacerated, and cradles it, thumb running down her skin where a scar should be, and he knows that in a day’s time, maybe less, there will be nothing in his heart but white hot anger for whoever did this. For her. For himself, for being too late. 
> 
> But for now, he closes his eyes, and kisses the top her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- see part one  
> \- warnings still in effect  
> \- chapter title from _on hearing a name long unspoken_ by leonard cohen

_Listen to a name_  
 _so private it can burn_  
 _hear it said aloud_  
 _and learn and learn_  
\- Leonard Cohen, "On Hearing a Name Long Unspoken"

*

"Help! I need help!"

The Doctor staggers from the TARDIS, immediately surrounded by nurses. An orderly, a towering Catkind man in preacher's dress, lifts her easily from his arms. Two nurses tug him away, assessing him for injuries as he tries to shake them off. 

"She's been shot, lower abdomen, she's been unconscious for at least ten minutes—"

"We'll take care of her," someone says, but he pushes them aside, reaching for her hand as they carefully place her on a gurney. "What species, sir?"

"Gallifreyan. You can't give her Linisin or Palouche, and she's allergic to Broxicaine. I tried to heal her but I don’t have enough—"

Her eyes widen in surprise, and the bustle of nurses around River pause. "I'm sorry, did you say Gallifreyan?"

The Doctor snarls. "Yes, she's a fucking Time Lord, now help her!"

"Doctor," Clara murmurs, and a nurse pushes him away from the gurney. A dome slides over the top, encasing her in a life support pod. Red lights scan the length of the pod, and the nurse looks down at an electronic chart in her hands, the readings transmitted wirelessly.

Their movements are calm, collected, not at all like the rush of Earth casualty, and the Doctor tugs at his hair in agitation.

"Do something!"

"She's in stasis, sir, and we'll operate immediately." She glances at the readout on the pod. "Binary vascular system?”

The Doctor’s face reddens, and Clara steps in quickly, a hand on his arm. 

“We think her second heart gave out about twenty minutes ago, before we found her.” 

The nurse nods, and the Doctor flashes Clara a grateful look. “And you’re quite sure she’s Gallifreyan, sir?”

The Doctor growls. “Time Lord, with human DNA, how many other species do you know of with two bloody—”

The nurse studies the readings again, and looks up at him sympathetically. “Humans we are familiar with, sir, but I was under the impression Gallifreyans were extinct. We have no knowledge of how to treat them.”

The Doctor stares at her incredulously. “You have records! That’s River Song, you’ve treated her before, you—”

She keys in something on her tablet, and shakes her head. “I’m sorry, sir, we’ve never had a patient by that name.”

“Never had a patient—” He cuts himself off, pacing away. “Bloody time travel—” He rounds on the TARDIS. “You couldn’t have pitched us forward a few centuries!”

“Are you family?"

He tugs a hand through his hair. "Husband."

"And you understand her biology, sir?”

He nods, dragging a hand over his face as he stares at River, her head lolled to the side, eyes closed, face drained of colour. 

“Good. We'll need you to sign this, and then come with us to casualty. You can assist.”

“Assist?” Clara echoes. 

"Will she make it?"

"Sir—"

"Will she make it."

"This is the best hospital in the universe, sir."

"That's not what I asked."

Hesitating, the nurse glances down at the readings. “Your wife has sustained a laserblast gunshot wound to her left kidney, which treated has a 98.6% chance of survival in our hospital. Unfortunately, the wound coupled with her other injuries has caused internal hemorrhaging, and the broken rib she sustained is dangerously close to puncturing her right lung. Under the circumstances, I’m afraid I’d have to put her survival rate at 43.7%.”

He sees Clara gasp, her eyes brimming with tears. Sees the warm, sympathetic expression on the nurse’s face, the calm, stoic expression of the orderlies. He sees the white walls and the TARDIS in his periphery and the occasional patient, walking up and down the halls. But it’s all background, out of focus and quiet, and he moves passed them to the gurney, a weathered hand on the glass. The red light continues to scan over her body, and he can faintly see her chest rise and fall. On the side, there’s an image of her body, scrolling through her injuries, x-rays and brain scans and he tears his eyes away. 

“Save her,” he whispers, and the words catch in his throat. “Please. She’s all—she’s everything. Save her.”

The nurse nods, and with a wave of her arm, two orderlies begin to push the gurney away. His hand slides from the glass, and he watches until they turn the corner, out of sight. 

“You’ll need to scrub up, sir, and we can join them.”

The Doctor nods numbly. He follows her to an empty room, strips out of his bloody clothes and into a pair of white scrubs. He washes his hands with soap and water until they’re blistered red, then stands at the head of the gurney, answering questions about her biology, her medical history, supplying answers to anything he can think of that might be of relevance while two Catkind doctors slide their hands through electronic pockets in the dome and operate. 

She crashes twice, and he’s not sure if he screams or not but he doesn’t take his eyes off her face. The whole procedure, he doesn’t look, barely breathes, just sears the lines of her face into his mind and prays. All he wants to do is hold her hand, brush her matted hair from her face and tell her to hold on, to come back to him, to stay with him this time, _just this once, River, please, don’t go._

It takes them hours, far longer than they’ve ever dealt with, but still a fraction of the time it would have taken on Earth. 

When they’re done, and she’s stable, and they’ve put away their machines and restarted her hearts and sealed the wound and placed a mask over her nose and mouth, they wheel her into another room, with blue walls and paintings and a vase of flowers. 

“We’ll clean her up now,” a nurse says gently. He can’t tell them apart. “The automated system will—”

He shakes his head. “I’ll do it.”

“Sir—”

He looks up at her. “Let me do it.”

She nods slowly. “Of course. But...you need to be prepared, sir.”

“Prepared for what?”

“Her injuries, sir.”

The Doctor frowns. “She was shot. She was probably in a fight, knowing her.”

The nurse shakes her head. “I’m sorry, sir. Many of the injuries she sustained are at least five days old, and it appears—”

Something in his chest coils and tightens. “Appears what?”

“I’m afraid your wife’s injuries were not sustained in a fight, sir. Most all of them, according to our records, appear to be consistent with 21st century Earth techniques.”

“Techniques of _what_?”

The nurse holds his gaze. “Torture,” she says quietly. “I believe is the word they used.”

The Doctor stares at her. He stares at her so long his vision blurs, before he takes a gulping breath and looks back at his wife. She’s still in her dirty, bloody clothes, ripped trousers and half a shirt, sleeves to her elbows. Her hands are covered in blood, but he thought it was from the gunshot wound, from holding her side. 

He’s seen her with a black eye before. Seen her stumble into the TARDIS with a burn mark on her arm and make a joke about Sontarans’ lousy aim. He’s seen her with a sprained ankle and a laceration on her shoulder from a 14th century dual that she insists she’d have won, if he hadn’t broken it up. 

He’s seen her push him to the ground, fire a shot over his head and take a bullet for him and no matter how many times he yells at her that it isn’t worth it, she never apologises. 

With shaking hands, he lifts her wrist, bruised and lacerated, and cradles it, thumb running down her skin where a scar should be, and he knows that in a day’s time, maybe less, there will be nothing in his heart but white hot anger for whoever did this. For her. For himself, for being too late. 

But for now, he closes his eyes, and kisses the top her hand. 

“I’ll bring you some soap and water,” the nurse murmurs, and he settles into the chair next to her bed. 

They bring him a new bowl and sponge every ten minutes, but he barely notices. He cleans her face first, gently scrubbing away dried bits of blood and dirt. The bruise around her eye is healing, turning green and yellow, but it’s still swollen shut. 

He cleans her neck and shoulders, and cuts away her clothes. He cleans her breasts and stomach and sides and his hands linger over the scar, barely visible, where they’d closed her skin. He cleans behind her ears, her elbows, her feet, her knees, and he counts. Every bruise and scar and scab and burn mark he counts, and files it away, and while he cleans he talks to her. He tells her about Trenzalore and Gallifrey and Christmas. He tells her about Clara and seeing Amy again and marrying Elizabeth I. He tells her he wishes she could have been there, could have seen him, could have made innuendos and made them all blush. 

“You’d have been proud of me, I think,” he says, lifting her wrists to wipe dirt from her pulse before covering her skin with the white cloth.

He cleans her fingers, one by one, and wraps each tip in a clean bandage with a kiss.

With the help of a nurse, he cleans her back and behind her legs, and helps her into a white gown before drawing the blankets up to her shoulders. His eyes flicker to the machine, beeping steadily, two heartbeats. 

He lays a hand over her chest, just to be sure. 

\--

Clara finds him an hour later, barely moved. He wants to apologise for leaving her, but his throat is scratchy and dry. 

With one hand on her shoulder, Clara hands him a glass of water, and lays a change of clothes for him on the end of the bed. 

“Thank you,” he says, and she looks at him curiously. 

“What?”

The Doctor frowns. Realises the entire time he’s been alone with his wife, he’d only spoken in Gallifreyan. 

“Sorry,” he says, in English. 

“It’s okay.” Clara pulls up a chair and sits next to him. “How is she?”

“Stable, for now.” He brushes a thumb over her wrist. “She crashed twice. The oxygen deprivation—”

Clara covers his free hand with hers. “She’ll be fine, Doctor. She’s strong.”

He nods. “You can’t tell her you’ve met her before.”

“I know.”

“She hasn’t lived through that yet, and it could cause a paradox if you—”

“I know.”

“Don’t tell her what I did,” he says suddenly, his voice dropping as his eyes settle on River’s face. 

Clara frowns. “You healed her. You probably saved her life, Doctor, she should know—“

He shakes his head. “She’d hate it.”

“But why?”

The Doctor squeezes his eyes shut. “Ten days,” he says, ignoring her question. “Ten days she was on that ship, ten days and they—they—”

Clara wraps her arms around him tightly, a hand smoothing over his neck, and lets it drop. “She’s going to be fine, Doctor. She’s going to be fine, and she’s going to wake up and mock you mercilessly for crying over her, yeah?”

He huffs out a laugh, squeezing her back with one arm as he buries his face in her shoulder. “Thank you.”

“What I’m here for,” she says, kissing his forehead as she draws back. “Want me to leave you two alone for a bit?”

The Doctor shakes his head. “You can go back to the TARDIS if you—”

Clara pats his shoulder and settles into her chair. “Nah. I’m good right here.”

\--

Her hand twitches under his, and the Doctor’s neck snaps up. “River?” Clara stirs at the sound but doesn’t wake, and the Doctor stands up, leaning over River, a hand on her shoulder. “River, can you hear me?”

Her hand moves again, and her eye flickers beneath the lid. Her lips move, but there’s no sound. 

“Come on, River, wake up.”

Her good eye flutters open, and he holds his breath while she stares at him for a long moment. Then her hand comes up, weakly tugging at the mask, and the Doctor pulls her hand away. 

“Don’t try to talk. You still need that.”

She glowers at him, and the Doctor half-laughs in relief, kissing the top of her hand. Still, her lips move beneath the mask, and her fingers try to tighten around his. 

“Hush, it’s okay. You’re safe now.”

She shakes her head, barely, and tries again to speak. 

“You were oxygen deprived for over twenty minutes, River, you _need_ that.”

Her motions become more frantic, and he realises that she doesn’t recognise him. Whether it’s because she can’t see him, doesn’t remember him, or hasn’t met him, he doesn’t know, but he grips her hand and says, “It’s me, River. It’s the Doctor, I’m here. You’re safe.”

If anything, that makes her more agitated, lips moving beneath the mask, and she pats at his arm. 

“What? What do you need?”

“She needs something to write on,” Clara says, her voice thick with sleep. From the nightstand, she grabs a small tablet and supports it near her hand. River’s eye passes over her gratefully, and she accepts the Doctor’s help to guide the pen over the screen. 

“ ‘Nori’?” He frowns at the uneven scrawl. 

But she’s asleep, head tilted toward him, hand lax in his, and the Doctor sighs, putting aside the note for later. 

“You know, for a proper genius you’re quite dim sometimes,” Clara muses, a smirk on her face, and the Doctor scowls good-naturedly. 

“I’m brilliant.”

“If you say so.”

\--

She wakes again in the middle of the night, and this time he doesn’t stop her from pulling the mask away. 

“Hello, sweetie,” she breathes, barely a rasp. “You’re a sight for sore eye.” The Doctor snorts, and River’s lips twitch in a smile. “Get it?”

“I get it, dear,” he grumbles, unable to stop himself from brushing a hand over her cheek. River turns into the touch as best she can, and his chest loosens. “You know me, then? This me?”

She nods faintly, and he stifles, but barely, the urge to ask.

“I don’t know whether to yell at you or snog you bloody senseless,” he admits, and River smiles; even with a split lip, it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

“I prefer snogging, if you’re taking votes,” she murmurs, and he can see her getting tired again, drifting off. 

“I suppose I could take that into account,” he says. “Yelling later. Snogging now.”

She hums, and he leans over, pressing his lips to hers, just a brush, so soft. Her tongue darts out to lick at his lip, and he pulls away, chuckling. 

“Promise for later,” she says. 

“I’ll hold you to it.”

“You’d better.”


	11. i know you need your sleep now (1/3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The third time she wakes, she tries to get out of bed. The nurses balk, and the Doctor shouts, and Clara stands off to the sidelines, bemusedly watching their domestic. 
> 
> “River Song you get back in this bloody bed right now before I—”
> 
> “You what?” she challenges. “Lecture me to death?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- see part one  
> \- warnings still in effect  
> \- chapter title from "field commander cohen" by leonard cohen

_I know you need your sleep now,_  
 _I know your life’s been hard,_  
 _but many men are falling_  
 _where you promised to stand guard._  
\- Leonard Cohen, "Field Commander Cohen" 

*

The third time she wakes, she tries to get out of bed. The nurses balk, and the Doctor shouts, and Clara stands off to the sidelines, bemusedly watching their domestic. 

“River Song you get back in this bloody bed right now before I—”

“You what?” she challenges. “Lecture me to death?”

“Mrs. Song,” the nurse says, “You really should get back in bed, you’re in no condition to—”

“There’s a bed in the TARDIS, I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, if you don’t rip your stitches out before you—”

“I don’t have stitches, sweetie, it’s the year six billion for God’s sake.” She pulls up the hospital gown to show him her side. “See? All healed up.”

Clara covers her mouth as the Doctor protests, and the orderlies look away, blushing at the sight of her bare legs and no knickers. Grabbing the gown, the Doctor pushes it back over her stomach. 

“Can you not flash the _entire_ staff _and_ my companion?”

River snorts. “I think she’ll survive, sweetie, you’re the one mid-coronary.”

“And when I drop dead it’ll be your fault, you stubborn woman!”

River waves a hand in front of her face and tries again to set her feet on the floor. “Oh, you’ll be fine, you’ll regenerate.”

The Doctor gasps, affronted, and River takes the opportunity to stand up. The room spins a bit, and her ankle protests, and she grabs the nearest solid thing to keep upright. Unfortunately, it’s her husband, who seems intent on proving dizziness as a sign of incapability. 

“I’m injured, not an invalid,” she snaps, pushing him away. “Just get me to the TARDIS so I can—”

“Stop it!” he snaps, his voice so thick and cold that Clara flinches, and the nurses freeze. “Stop acting like you’ve got a bloody paper cut! You’ve got two broken ribs, three others are fractured, ten hours ago your kidney had a fucking hole in it and you crashed twice during surgery! You’ve got thirty-two bruises, eleven burn marks, and god knows what else; your ankle’s broken and your heart stopped beating so for the love of God, get back in that bed and shut up!”

River stills, watching him carefully as he pants, his eyes wild and hands clenched as she leans one arm against the bed for support. 

“Can you give us a moment, please?”

The nurses rush to obey, and Clara follows slowly, reaching a hand out for the Doctor, then thinks better of it. When the door closes, and they’re alone, River takes a deep breath and lets go of the bed. It takes her longer than she’d like, but she manages to shuffle the few meters to where he’s standing, stock still and eyes wide, until she’s close enough to press a palm to his chest. 

“You’re right,” she murmurs. “It’s not a paper cut. And despite what you think, I do understand that. I’ve got a broken ankle. My ribs are a mess. I can only see out of one eye, and I’ve got no fingernails. I’ve spent the last ten days on a Dalek ship, and I thought I was going to die.” Reaching up, she brushes the back of her hand over his cheek. “But I _didn’t._ You found me. I’m here. And now, I need to get to the TARDIS. I need find my friend, and make sure everyone got out all right. I need to go to New Helkan, and I can do that with or without your help. It’s your call, Doctor—you can either get me a wheelchair and take me home, or you can stand there and watch me limp my way down the hall.”

The Doctor grumbles, glowering at her smirk. He opens and closes his mouth a few times to protest, then finally clamps his jaw shut. Marching to the door, he throws it open, sticks his head out and yells, “Clara! I need a bloody wheelchair!”

Behind him, River bites her lip to tamper a smile, and the Doctor stalks over to her, gentle hands on her waist betraying his annoyance. “Married a fucking lunatic,” he mutters, stepping closer so she can lean her weight on him, her head on his chest and arms loose around his waist. 

“Now you know how I feel,” she murmurs, closing her eyes as he presses a kiss to the crown of her head. 

A moment later, Clara opens the door hesitantly. “Is it safe?”

River laughs, and the Doctor scowls, and Clara backs into the room with a wheelchair. “Your carriage, milady.”

“Oh, I’ve always like you,” River says, holding the Doctor’s arm as she lowers herself into the seat. 

Clara’s eyes widen. “So you know me then?”

River nods, letting the girl push her down the hallway, much to the protest of the nurses and doctors. River leaves the Doctor to deal with it, patting the TARDIS door gratefully when they open the doors, and the stairs have turned into a ramp. 

“Wow. She must love you,” Clara notes, eyeing the console sceptically. 

River chuckles, smoothing a hand over the railing. “She’d better,” is all she says, and before Clara can ask, the Doctor huffs his way in, slamming the doors behind him. 

“New Helkan, was it?” he grumbles, throwing the TARDIS into flight. “Coordinates?”

“Triple-8 11 by 82 0 slash 7, 9 9 by—”

“8 3 7 5, yes, got it.”

“Show off,” she mutters, throwing a wink at Clara. 

“Do you want some clothes?” she asks suddenly, then flushes. “I mean, you look fine, but I probably have something you can—no, you live here, what am I saying, sorry.”

The Doctor rolls his eyes, but River smiles gently, and he watches her out of the corner of his eye, the gentle hand she places on Clara’s arm. 

“That would be lovely, actually. Mind giving me a lift?”

“I’m a bit busy, if you hadn’t noticed,” the Doctor scowls, smacking the scanner. 

“I wasn’t talking to _you_ ,” River smirks, and he glares, but it looks more like a pout, really, and Clara claps her hands. 

“Right this way then, milday,” she says, guiding the wheelchair down the hall. River stops at the wardrobe, and Clara tries not to feel disappointed that it isn’t _their_ room. 

“Sorry, love,” River says, patting her hand. “He’s a bit the secret type.”

Clara shrugs. “S’all right. Everyone’s got to have at least one, eh?”

River nods, and Clara helps her pick out an outfit, a lightweight, grey dress with long sleeves that slips easily over her head, and covers all the way down to her ankles. It’s easy to move in, and soft, and she doesn’t bother with anything else, save a loose belt Clara finds and insists on, and one slip-on shoe, for the foot that isn’t covered with a cast. 

Clara finds a cane, and helps River apply a bit of makeup. It doesn't do anything to cover the bruise, but when she looks in the mirror she feels more like herself, more like a woman, and she's grateful for Clara's quiet understanding. 

It's one thing to be the wife of the Doctor. It's another to be the wife of the Doctor in the presence of his beautiful, perfectly composed companion, and while Clara insists she would look amazing in a paper bag with two black eyes, it helps. 

They leave the wheelchair in the hallway, and Clara helps River back into the console room. The Doctor splutters, voice raised as he tries to insist she sit down, but his eyes rake over her form, half concern, half lust, and Clara throws River a wink. 

"Told you," she says, and River laughs, and the Doctor scowls. 

"Have we landed?"

He nods, and she kisses his cheek in thanks for leaving the brake off this time. 

New Helkan is beautiful—a vast, empty planet, save for the native animals, lush and green and nothing like the black, dark caves on Hell. 

River blinks at the sunlight, raising a hand to shield her eyes, and she's barely cleared her vision when there's a high-pitched cry, and something slams into her legs. She buckles, nearly pitching forward but the Doctor stops her, a firm arm around her waist, and when she looks down, tears spring to her eyes. 

"Rivi, Rivi, you made it!"

Sancha beams up at her, tiny arms around River's legs, her face pressed to her stomach. She's grown, taller than River remembers, but it's been at least two years, maybe three, and River smiles.

"Hello, little one," she murmurs, brushing a hand through Sancha's hair. 

"Daddy said you might not come but I knew you would. I _knew_ it."

River's smile widens, and when she looks up, finds Joni, staring at her from across a field.

"We're planting crops, and we just finished our house—we have a _house_ now, Rivi, and I have my own room and—"

She laughs. "Slow down, little one. You'll have plenty of time to show me."

Sancha giggles, hugging her again before pulling away. "Who are you?" 

"This is the Doctor, and his friend Clara."

Clara waves, smiling brightly, but Sancha frowns, looking at River in concern. "Are you sick?"

River laughs when the Doctor mutters, "Sick in the head." Clara smacks him in the arm.

"No, I'm fine, love, I'm—"

"River."

She meets Joni's gaze, and there's a long moment of silence before he steps around Sancha and enfolds her in a hug. To her side, she sees the Doctor stiffen, his expression darkening, but she doesn't mind. 

He's safe, and alive, and free, and _here_ , and River wraps her arms carefully around him for a long minute before pulling away. 

"Look at you," she hums appreciatively. "Bit of sunshine did wonders for those muscles." She squeezes his bicep and Joni laughs, shaking his head. 

"And you look like shit. How's that for a world gone wrong?"

River smiles. "Looks like the world's going beautifully."


	12. i know your life's been hard (2/3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The entire walk back to the village, the Doctor keeps one arm looped around her waist, setting a slow pace that the others follow instinctively. Joni tells them about the trip in the Dalek ship they’ve since buried underground. It took them two months to get to New Helkan, as they’re calling it, and it’s been another month since, as they try to move forward with nothing but the clothes on their backs and whatever scraps they managed to save from the mines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- see part one  
> \- warnings still in effect  
> \- chapter title from _field commander cohen_ by leonard cohen

_I never asked but I heard you cast_  
 _your lot along with the poor._  
 _But then I overheard your prayer,_   
_that you be this and nothing more_  
\- Leonard Cohen, "Field Commander Cohen" 

*

The Doctor clears his throat, loudly, and River rolls her eyes, stepping back to lean her weight against his shoulder. 

"Joni, this is the Doctor, and his friend Clara Oswald."

He looks between them, recognition flashing in his eyes as he studies the Doctor, but he turns to River warily. “Should she be here?”

The Doctor makes to protest, but River beats him to it. “She’s fine, Joni.”

He leans in slightly, voice dropped. “No one knows we’re here, River, we can’t just hand out information to anyone who—”

“I can leave,” Clara offers, and Joni’s eyes dart to her. “I’ll just stay in the TARDIS, and—”

River shakes her head, halting Clara’s movements. “Any friend of the Doctor is a friend of mine. I’d trust Clara with my life.”

Clara’s eyes widen, and she looks to the Doctor in question. Jonataon remains sceptical, but she can see him wavering. 

“And with ours?” he asks. 

River’s answer is firm. “Yes.”

Beside her, Clara stills, uncertain what she’s done or will do to earn such loyalty, and the Doctor throws her a reassuring wink, even though it’s not positive himself. After a moment, Joni deflates, and holds out a hand to each of them. 

“Apologies,” he offers. “We’re a bit...guarded. I’m Jonataon.”

“Pleasure,” Clara says instantly, shaking his hand, all forgiven.

The Doctor shakes his hand gruffly, sizing him up.

"Joni led the Helkan revolution," she says pointedly, and the Doctor's eyes widen. He knows about it, of course—the centuries the Helkans spent underground, forced to mine toxic gas for the Daleks. He knows about their escape, their relocation, the new world they established that would one day thrive as a beacon of peace and hope. 

Beside him, Joni smiles self-deprecatingly, and shakes his head. "None of it would have happened without you, River."

"Oh, I don't know about that," she muses, laying a hand on Sancha's head when the girl nuzzles into her side. "You were ready."

Jonataon's clears his throat, his eyes darting toward the TARDIS doors, and River winces. Still, he doesn't ask, but she knows it's coming. "Are you—do you have some time? We can show you around. And your friends."

"You can see my room, Rivi!" Sancha pipes up, grabbing her hand. 

River tries to cover the flinch, but a weak gasp escapes her throat as pain spikes up her arm to her head, and Jonataon’s eyes widen. 

“Your hands.”

River tries to curl her fingers into her palm, but they’re too numb. “I’m fine,” she says, but it’s more strangled than she’d like, and Jonataon eyes her sceptically. 

“What happened?”

The Doctor opens his mouth, and River elbows him in the chest. “Don’t worry about it.”

“River—”

She shakes her head. “Seriously, Joni,” she says gently, surreptitiously pulling down her sleeves to make sure they cover her wrists. “I’m fine. _Really._ ”

Behind her, the Doctor covers a snort with a cough, and while she knows Joni doesn’t believe her, he nods. 

“Rivi?” Sancha stares up at her with large, violet eyes, and River smiles down at her. She wishes she could get down on her level, put her knees in the grass and wrap her arms around the child, but her ribs protest even the slightest movement, and she settles for holding out a hand. 

“It’s okay, little one. Just a bit sore.”

Sancha reaches for her, and Joni hesitates. “Careful, Sani.”

The girl pauses, looking between them, until River nods. Slowly, so gently, Sancha curls her fingers around River’s palm, resting more than holding. 

“I’ll take care of you, Rivi,” she says. With her free hand, River blows her a kiss. 

Sancha beams, worry gone, and she stays glued to River’s side as they make their way out of the fields toward a tiny, half-built village. 

“We’ve only been here a month,” Joni explains, “But we’re making great progress. Several teams have gone out to explore the rest of the island—we think it’s an island, anyway—and we’ve already dedicated a grove a ways west of here a holy site. It’s beautiful—the trees are so tall you can barely see the sky, but there’s a clearing, and at night all the stars come out—” He flushes. “You probably know all this, about stars.”

River laughs gently. “No one knows everything,” she murmurs. 

Beside her, the Doctor huffs. “I do.”

Clara and River both roll their eyes. 

“I do! I know everything!” 

Clara folds her arms across her chest. “Who’s Kanye West?”

The Doctor glares at her. “Shut up.”

Sancha giggles. “You’re funny.”

“Oi! I am not funny. I’m big and terrifying while you’re wee and adorable.”

Sancha giggles again, using her free hand to poke the Doctor in the leg. He cries out, pretending to buckle his leg. “Ow! That was uncalled for! I guess you’re stronger than you look, eh?” Sancha nods, and the Doctor smiles, straightening, and taps the side of his nose. “And don’t you forget it.”

Joni watches the exchange bemusedly, but he keeps one eye on River as she leans against the Doctor’s shoulder. 

The entire walk back to the village, the Doctor keeps one arm looped around her waist, setting a slow pace that the others follow instinctively. Joni tells them about the trip in the Dalek ship they’ve since buried underground. It took them two months to get to New Helkan, as they’re calling it, and it’s been another month since, as they try to move forward with nothing but the clothes on their backs and whatever scraps they managed to save from the mines. 

“Is it gone?” he asks finally, when they’ve reached his small, single-floor cabin. 

“The planet’s still there,” River says, “But all the other ships in orbit were destroyed.”

Joni offers her a seat, and she shakes her head. The Doctor protests, and River flashes him a tight smile, a soothing hand over his arm, and he knows: if she sits, getting back up will be infinitely more painful than staying standing. 

Joni watches the exchange, confused, and Clara diffuses the tension by turning to Sancha with a grin. “Have you ever heard of musical chairs?”

Sancha shakes her head, eyes wide, and Clara runs around the kitchen table with her, keeping her preoccupied while River, Joni and the Doctor head out to the back garden. Joni’s quiet, too quiet, and River knows what he’s going to say before he does, her body tensing in the Doctor’s arms. 

“She didn’t make it, did she?”

River flinches. “I’m sorry.”

“What happened?” River hesitates, and Joni turns to her, his eyes bright and wet. “You promised you’d get her out.”

“Get who out?” the Doctor asks, shifting slightly in front of River, a barrier between them. 

“My daughter. River—”

“There wasn’t enough time,” she lies. “After I set the self-destruct, there wasn’t enough time to find her.”

“And that’s all you cared about? Blowing up the ships?”

She shakes her head. “They would have found you eventually. The Daleks had to be—”

“You _promised._ ” His voice cracks. “You said you wouldn’t leave without her, you said—”

“Enough,” the Doctor snaps, his voice low and eyes narrowed. 

“He’s fine, Doctor,” River whispers. “He’s right. I failed. I don’t know what happened to her, if she got off the ship or—”

Joni turns away, pacing several feet from them. 

“I’m sorry.”

He nods curtly, but doesn’t face her, and River knows. She can see in the set of his shoulders that the trust they’d built is gone. He won’t harm her, but he’ll never forgive her. 

“I should have come with you,” he says, and River closes her eyes.

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” she says softly, but he doesn’t hear her, and she’s glad. 

“I need a minute,” he says stiffly, turning to go back into the house, and when he’s out of sight, River’s shoulders crumple, and she turns her head into the Doctor’s shoulder. 

“You lied to him,” he murmurs. “Why?”

“I couldn’t save her.”

The Doctor shakes his head. “Maybe not, but I know you tried.” When River doesn’t answer, the Doctor sighs, resting his chin on the top of her head. “What really happened?”

“She didn’t want to be saved,” River answers simply, pulling back to look at him, her hand resting on his clavicle, where his bowtie used to be. “Some of the Helkans, they’re born with the ability to locate precious stones within the caves. It’s a genetic code that gets flipped at random, and Joni’s daughters...they both had it. His wife had it. All of them were taken, Sancha when she was three. Nori...Nori was gone long before I got there. They must have realised her potential, or—she was working on the Dalek ship, a scientist, or so she thought.” River bites her lip. “She thought she was helping people, but...I tried to get her to come with me. I tried to wait, until she was ready, until she’d understand—” She looks down, staring at her hands, at the bandages. “I just hope she made it.”

The Doctor considers for a moment, his hand sliding over her side, coming to rest on the faint scar over her abdomen. “She’s the one who shot you, isn’t she?”

“It was an accident.”

“Not an accident that she left you there.”

River looks up. “How do you know that?”

He could tell her. She could handle it, he knows, but she’s looking at him with wide eyes, barely breathing, and he can’t. Can’t break the one piece of hope she has, no matter how false. He could tell her, and see that light go out, but instead he cups her cheek in his palm and smiles sadly. 

“I know everything,” he says, brushing his thumb over the bruise. 

River bows her head. “She’s dead, isn’t she?” The Doctor stiffens, and River chuckles, but it isn’t humoured. “You’re many things, Doctor, but a brilliant liar isn’t one of them. In fact, you’re quite rubbish this go around.”

“I didn’t want you to feel worse,” he admits.

“Not much chance of that, my love,” she murmurs, and the Doctor sighs. 

“She let us go. We couldn’t get to the TARDIS in time, and she gave us the last evac-ferry. Said that she’d made her choice.”

River startles, glaring up at him. “And you let her? Doctor—”

“You were hurt.”

“ _So?_ ”

He swallows. “You were dying, River.”

She tries to pull away, but he won’t let her. “She _wasn’t._ She was fine, Doctor, you should have—”

“There was no time. Clara was there, I couldn’t leave her.”

“You could have left me.”

His grip tightens around her arm. “Never.”

“Doctor—”

“ _Never,_ do you understand me? It was you or her and I made my choice and that’s something I have to live with, but it’s not your fault, and I’d do it again.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I would, and you know it, and don’t pretend that you wouldn’t do the same.”

“That’s different, that’s—”

“Why? Why is it different?” he snaps, holding her to his chest, his gentle touch belaying the anger in his voice. “Because you love me more?”

River flinches and the Doctor sighs, releasing her to scrub a hand over his face. 

"I don't know how much of me you've seen since I regenerated."

"Doctor—"

“Let me talk."

River sets her jaw and glowers.

"I don't know how much of this me you've seen, but this is the first time I've seen you. And it's been a long time, too long, but long enough to realise that things need to change between us." River looks away, and the Doctor crooks a finger under her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "We’re _married,_ River. And despite what you think, I take that vow just as seriously as you do. Just as much. Just as completely—”

She cuts him off, a soft press of her lips to his, an apology in her touch. His hands settle on her hips, mouth opening against hers and River gasps in surprise, lips curving up in a smile.

“If you two can postpone the makeup snog,” Clara interrupts, poking her head out the door, “Joni wants to take us to the main hall for dinner.”

The Doctor groans, glowring over River’s head and Clara smirks unrepentantly. River chuckles, angling herself back into his side so he can help her through the house, out to the front where Joni and Sancha are waiting.


	13. but many men are falling where you promised to stand guard (3/3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> River blushes, and Joni stops in front of an empty chair, with a small plate on the table in front of it. “Welcome to New Helkan, River Song,” he says, loud enough for everyone to hear, and for a moment, there’s silence. 
> 
> River’s eyes dart around the room, cataloguing exits and vantage points and she’s so intent that for a moment, she doesn’t hear the clapping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- see part one  
> \- chapter title from _field commander cohen_ by leonard cohen

_Then let the other selves be wrong,_  
 _yeah, let them manifest and come_  
 _till every taste is on the tongue,_  
 _till love is pierced and love is hung,_  
 _and every kind of freedom done, then oh,_  
 _oh my love, oh my love, oh my love,_  
 _oh my love, oh my love, oh my love_  
\- Leonard Cohen, "Field Commander Cohen"

*

Sancha immediately takes River’s hand again, and Jonataon gives them a curt nod. “Everyone wants to see you,” he says. 

“Are you sure—”

He sighs. “You saved our people, River,” he says softly. “I haven’t forgotten that.”

Nodding slowly, she follows him through town, doing her best to ignore the whispers and glances from the others as she passes. She met only a handful of Helkans in the caves, those in her section, the operation conducted largely in secret, through quiet word of mouth and whispers when the guards’ backs were turned. But they know her, recognise her, and by the time they reach the makeshift dining hall, a crowd has gathered around them.

A hush settles over the open room, hundreds of eyes watching, tracking their motions. It’s crowded, some sitting, other standing, and River pauses, shaking her head. 

“We can wait outside, Joni, there’s no room—”

He snorts, offering a slight smile. “We saved you a seat.”

She blinks in surprise, and this time, Joni laughs. “How did you know I was coming?”

“We didn’t. We always have one.”

River blushes, and Joni stops in front of an empty chair, with a small plate on the table in front of it. “Welcome to New Helkan, River Song,” he says, loud enough for everyone to hear, and for a moment, there’s silence. 

River’s eyes dart around the room, cataloguing exits and vantage points and she’s so intent that for a moment, she doesn’t hear the clapping. 

An old man stands up, skin thick with wrinkles and scars, but the sound of his palms slapping together reverberates through the room, and a woman in the back joins in. Then another, and another, and until the whole room is cheering and clapping and crying and River stands there, dazed. 

Joni laughs at her expression and Sancha dances around her feet, and then she’s surrounded, people kissing her cheeks and shaking her hands and hugging her carefully, mindful of the cane. The Doctor stays by her side, a silent guardian. One woman smiles through her tears and kisses River’s hand and shows her a baby, wriggling in a swatch of cloth around her neck. 

“He’ll never know that life,” she whispers, her voice choked. “Only freedom. Thank you. _Thank you._ ”

River nods and smiles and tries to remember everyone, but there are so many people, so much noise. Kids approach her with awe and pet her dress and stand on the table so they can touch her hair. River laughs, leaning forward so one girl can tug at a curl, watching delightedly as it springs back into place. 

She’s brilliant with everyone, all of them, but especially the children, and the Doctor feels a strange tug in his chest that he hasn’t felt for centuries. He keeps a close eye on her, her face, her hands, and when her body starts to tremble slightly against his, he nods to Joni, who quickly helps disperse the crowd, encouraging everyone to sit and eat. Clara helps, distracting the children easily with a game of hide and seek, and the Doctor helps River slip away, out into the pale night. 

She breathes in deeply, then winces, her hand coming to settle on her ribs. 

“Done showing off now?” he grumbles, but there’s pride in his voice that he can’t mask, and doesn’t want to. 

“One more thing,” she says, “Then we can go home.”

It’s a question, almost, and the Doctor kisses the crown of her head in answer. 

They find Joni, who leads them back to the house. Sancha shows River her room, and despite the Doctor’s protests, she goes alone, needing the time to say goodbye. Clara heads back to the TARDIS, and the Doctor and Joni stare at each other across the room, until Joni sighs and slumps into a rickety chair. 

“She mentioned you, you know. In the caves.”

The Doctor eyes him steadily, leaning against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest. 

“I don’t think she meant to. Her pronoun slipped. Said ‘he’ instead of ‘they.’ _‘And every night I prayed someone would drop out of the sky and run away with me, and he never did.’_ ” At the Doctor’s arched eyebrow, Jonataon shrugs. “We have eidetic memories.”

“So do I.”

“Then you remember,” Jonataon says. “Every look, every word, every glance between you.”

“Yes.”

“Then why do you waste it?” He scoffs when the Doctor says nothing. “I spent three years with her, and I barely know anything more about her than the day we met. Nothing she didn’t want me to know. You know everything, and still she talks about you like you’re a ghost.”

The Doctor shrugs, but his chest tightens and it’s harder to breathe. “We’re all ghosts at some point or another.”

Joni shakes his head. “What happened to her? What isn’t she telling me?” He looks at the Doctor imploringly. “Her hands—they weren’t like that when we left, that’s not from the mines.” The Doctor says nothing, watching him sympathetically. “Something _happened._ ”

The Doctor sets his jaw, and Jonataon exhales sharply, rising from his seat. 

“Why won’t you tell me? Is it—is it about Nori? I have a right to know. She’s my daughter, she—” His voice gets higher, more frantic, and he takes a step toward the Doctor. “Why won’t she tell me what happened?”

“Because she’s trying to protect you,” the Doctor says, his voice low and curt, snappish, save for the gentle look in his eyes. “Because that woman will shoulder everyone’s damage until it kills her, and she’ll do it with her head held high because it’s the right thing to do.”

“Doctor—”

“It's not my place," he says gruffly, a finality to his tone. 

Jonataon flounders, tears in his eyes, and opens his mouth to speak when Sancha barrels into the room, jumping into her father's arms. 

"Can we give Rivi her gift now, Daddy? She has to leave soon and I want to give it to her."

Nodding, Joni sets Sancha down, ignoring River's confused gaze. Her eyes flicker between them, before settling on the Doctor, her eyes narrowed. She says nothing, and schools her expression when Sancha tugs at her skirt shyly. 

"It's not much," Joni says, his voice thick. "There's nothing we could give you that would repay—" River shakes her head, and Joni nods to the little girl, who opens her palm to reveal a bracelet, fashioned with twine. 

"I found all of them myself," Sacha says, pointing to the familiar stones. "Daddy helped me tie them together."

"It's beautiful," she murmurs, letting Sancha fumble with the ends, tongue stuck out as she ties it around River's wrist. "I love it." Bending down despite the pain in her chest, she hugs the little girl close. "Thank you."

Sancha smiles, clinging back, nose buried in River's stomach. "I love you, Rivi."

Closing her eyes, River sweeps her hand down the girl's back. "I love you too, little one."

Giving her one last squeeze, River straightens, her eyes flickering to the Doctor.

"Ready?" 

She nods, and Joni gives her a gentle hug. "Oh, I almost forgot." He steps away, and returns with a book, covered in dirt and worn. "Kept it safe, just like you asked."

"Thank you," she murmurs, brushing her hands reverently over her diary. Cradling it to her chest, she gives Joni one last kiss on the cheek, and lets Sancha hug her one last time. 

"We're not going to see you again, are we?"

River smiles sadly. "Oh, you never know. Stranger things have happened."

\--

The Doctor leads her back to their bedroom, stoic and gentle as she leans most of her weight on his shoulder. She's so pale, her body trembling with exertion, and part of him wants to snap at her for pushing so hard. The other part is so relieved she's letting him see, letting him help, for once, that he keeps his mouth shut. 

Their room is the same as she remembers it, warm and lush and she can't stop her eyes from stinging at the sight of their bed, sheets rumpled. He still sleeps here, and the Doctor snorts when she whispers her surprise. 

"Where else would I sleep, the floor?"

River chuckles and sucks in a sharp breath when her ribs protest. "No, of course not, I just—"

"Thought I'd moved on?" He arches an eyebrow, helping her sit on the edge of the bed. Her hand smoothes over the pillow, his pillow, and he sighs. "We didn't do diaries. When was the last time you saw me?"

"It's been a few years—the last time I saw your previous face was New Zion.”

He nods, remembering. “And this face?”

River smiles, reaching a hand up to cup his cheek. “Spoilers.” There’s something different about her expression, the way she looks at him, and he can’t quite figure it out. 

“But you have seen this face.” 

“Doctor, you know I can’t—”

“ _River._ ” He’s traitorously close to begging, overcome with the need to know that he’ll see her again, that this isn’t a fluke or a one-off or some moment out of time. He needs to know, with a sudden, aching clarity, that it isn’t over for them. That all her talk of spotters’ guides and _my Doctor_ isn’t in the past, wasn’t the face he had before. 

He needs a second chance, desperately, and she seems to know that. She always knows. Shaking her head fondly, River smiles. 

“Yes.” 

It’s barely a breath, but it’s enough for him, and the tension drains out of his shoulders. River laughs quietly. 

“Idiot.”

He nuzzles his face in her palm. “Your idiot.”

Her breathing hitches, eyes widening in just the faintest trace of surprise, and he decides then and there that he’s going to put a stop to that—that he’s going to shower her with so much praise and little endearments and sappy, romantic statements that she’ll never be surprised again; that she’ll expect it. 

He startles when her eyes well up, and he crouches down, taking her hands in his. “River? What is it, what’s wrong?”

She laughs, shaking her head, her eyes bright and smile wide. “Nothing, my love.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“Because you’re impossible.”

The Doctor frowns, mind running through their conversation, and then blushes profusely. “I said all that out loud, didn’t I?”

“You have a habit of it.”

“Good.” Kissing her hand, he rises, forcing himself to let her go. “I need to drop Clara off. Will you—”

She waves a hand. “I’ll be fine. Thank her for me.”

He nods. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t do anything stupid,” he grouses, hovering in the doorframe. 

“What, like the Charleston?” 

“ _River._ ”

“Go, my love. I’ll be right here when you get back.”


	14. draw the bath, we will wash each other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wants to tell her it’s fine. That he doesn’t care, that she’s still beautiful. He wants to tell her how furious he is, the white hot rage beneath his skin for whoever did this, whoever even _thought_ about marring her in any way. But what comes out is strangled, barely audible as he meets her gaze. 
> 
> “Why didn’t you call me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- see part one  
> \- warnings still in effect   
> \- chapter title from _i have two bars of soap_ by leonard cohen

_And here’s a jar of oil,_  
 _just like in the Bible._  
 _Lie in my arms,_  
 _I’ll make your flesh glisten._  
\- Leonard Cohen, "I Have Two Bars of Soap"

*

“Get back in bed.”

“No.”

“River Song you get back in that bed right now or—”

“Or what?” she snaps, from somewhere under the dress she’s been unsuccessfully trying to lift over her head for the last five minutes. Her arm is stuck in one sleeve and the dress is half over her head, and he’d be terribly amused if it weren’t so aggravating. 

“Or I’ll pick you up and dump you there myself.”

She pokes her head out of the top of the dress. “Seriously? That’s supposed to sound imposing? And what on earth are you doing with your hands on your hips, you look like a five year old.”

The Doctor looks down at his hands, clenched into fists on either hip, and swears under his breath. 

“You could just help me, you know.”

“Enable,” he corrects. 

He swears he hears her roll her eyes. “Before I fall flat on my face would be lovely.”

“You’d deserve it,” he mutters, but finally relents, gently helping her untangle herself from the dress and belt and tossing both aside. His hands fall to her waist, but he can’t quite cover his sharp intake of breath as his eyes fall to her shoulders, her arms, her stomach. She’s covered in bruises and scratches, others deeper, darker than others, and he swallows the lump in his throat as best he can. 

“What?” River studies him, her working eye dragging over his face before she looks down. “Oh. They’ll heal,” she says lightly. 

The Doctor shakes his head, his hands sliding up to barely rest on her ribs. She’s lost weight, not enough to frighten him but enough that he notices, that he worries, that he can’t help sliding his thumbs over her blue and purple skin, like he could magically brush it away. 

“Sweetie?”

He wants to tell her it’s fine. That he doesn’t care, that she’s still beautiful. He wants to tell her how furious he is, the white hot rage beneath his skin for whoever did this, whoever even _thought_ about marring her in any way. But what comes out is strangled, barely audible as he meets her gaze. 

“Why didn’t you call me?”

River frowns. “I did call you.”

“ _Before._ Before this, before—” He chokes on the words, sliding his hands back down to her hips, where he can hold her tighter and not risk hurting her. “I would have come. I could have helped, I—”

“I know,” she murmurs. “I know, of course you would have. You always do.”

“Then why—”

“It was a bit last minute, sweetie,” she reminds him, settling a hand on his shoulder. “By the time I fully understood what was happening in the mines, it was too late to leave and get help. They took my vortex manipulator—I was barely able to hide my diary, and after they escaped, well. Getting caught wasn’t _actually_ part of the plan.” She rolls her eyes at herself, but the Doctor frowns, his brow crinkling. 

“What happened?”

“Part of the mine caved in. I should have known it wasn’t going to hold, but—I had to go back, help the rest of them get out. The collapse triggered the alarm, and there was no time for me to get to the ship.” She shrugs. “I sent the last group on ahead and made a distraction.”

“You saved them all.”

She looks away. “Not everyone. There were casualties, when the mine collapsed. Not everyone—”

“You did the best you could.”

“It’s not really enough though, is it?” She looks up at him questioningly. “No matter how many you save, there’re always casualties. There’s always someone who loses a loved one, and no number can make up for that.” 

“No,” he murmurs. “It can’t.”

“I’m sorry,” she says abruptly. “About the message, I—”

“You lied to me.”

She snorts. “I’m not sorry about _that._ ” The Doctor glowers, and River huffs. “Well I certainly wasn’t going to leave you a death note.”

“You almost did.”

She winces. “I never wanted you to—”

“I know.” He brushes her hair back from her face. “Now who’s an idiot?” 

River smiles weakly and takes a halting step forward, letting her head rest against his chest as he trails his hands down her spine. “Thank you,” she whispers into his neck. “For catching me.”

The Doctor squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his face into her hair. “Always.”

River sniffs, and after a moment pulls back and gives a self-deprecating huff. “All right. I need a shower.”

The Doctor’s eyes narrow. “You need to sleep.”

“Yes, dear,” she says, “After I—”

“River.”

“As much as I appreciate the sponge bath—which I regretfully was unconscious for—I’ve spent the last three years living in a cave, quite literally, and I smell like helkogen gas and Dalek.” She wrinkles her nose. “I _need_ a shower.”

“Bath.”

“Doctor—”

“You need a bath, River. You need to get off your feet and relax, before you fall flat on your face.”

“Throwing my words back at me? Rude.”

He smirks. “It’s an argument I can’t lose.”

Still, she hesitates. “You know I don’t like—”

“I’ll stay,” he offers, and River’s eyes snap to his. 

“Really?”

He snorts. “Why wouldn’t I? Hot water, naked wife, lots of bubbles. I think I’ve even got a rubber duck in here somewhere.”

“Oh, well in that case,” she murmurs, and the Doctor lets out a sigh of relief. Leaving her to lean against the wall, her weight off her ankle, the Doctor fills the tub and adds more bubbles than can stay in the tub, cursing when they overflow onto the floor. Stripping out of his clothes, he checks the temperature before helping her over the lip to settle in front of him, her back to his chest. 

The bubbles cover every inch of water, and River squeezes his knee in thanks. From somewhere behind him, the Doctor produces a rubber duck, quacking as he walks it up her arm. 

River laughs, then moans, and the Doctor kisses the crown of her head, abandoning the duck to the mountain of bubbles. Beneath the water, his hands slide over her skin, her thighs and breasts and stomach, as if he can’t quite believe she’s still there. Still whole. 

Still his. 

River scoffs. “Who else would have me?”

The Doctor pauses. “Out loud?”

She nods. 

“Is that a thing I do now?”

“Among others.”

“Good things?”

“Spoilers.”

He flicks a bit of soapy water on her shoulder. “Tease.”

Normally, he assumes, she would wriggle her hips back into his and laugh at him, but now she merely hums, her head tilting back to lean against his shoulder. 

Pushing her gently away, he runs his hands through her hair, using a small bowl to wash and rinse it thoroughly, taking a moment to breathe in the scent of shampoo. It’s been so long, and he just wants to hold her to him as tightly as he can; wants her to be healed and healthy so he can do all manner of unspeakable things to her; instead, he keeps his touch as light as possible, running a bar of soap over her body beneath the water. 

Her casts are waterproof, but he carefully unwraps each bruised finger, cleaning the tip of each. River flexes her hand and winces. 

“Not the most enjoyable afternoon,” she admits. 

The Doctor stiffens, anger clouding his vision until River pats his thigh beneath the water. 

“They’re gone, Doctor,” she reminds him. “They weren’t even people.”

“I know,” he sighs. “Fucking Daleks.”

River smiles, and he can tell she wants to laugh. Her hair is plastered to her neck, a stray strand on her cheek that he carefully tucks behind her ear. River ducks her head, almost bashful, and the Doctor’s insides clench. 

“Was he really so horrible?” he whispers. 

“Who?”

“Me.”

River’s eyes widen. “No, of course not, you—”

“Then why do you do that?” he murmurs. “You’re seeing more of him now, aren’t you? My last face. You left that message for him.”

River nods tentatively. “I still see you, though.”

“Did you want it to be him?” He hates himself for asking, and hates even more the horrified expression on River’s face. 

“No—no, it doesn’t—it never matters to me, Doctor. Any you, always.”

He frowns, shaking his head. “Then why do you seem so surprised? Every time I do something, you—you look like I’ve just handed you the bloody moon when all I’ve done is hold your hand.”

“Because that’s what it feels like,” she answers, her eyes bright. “Every time you hold my hand.”

“But?” he prods. 

“No, there’s no—” She sighs, wincing as she shifts even further in his arms, to face him better. The tub is large enough that she can settle in his lap, her legs sideways over his, his hand at her back. “It’s just...I’ve seen a lot of younger you, lately. Well, before. And this you—it’s...it’s like you said. It’s been too long.” Meeting his gaze, she strokes a hand over his cheek. “And sometimes...sometimes, with him...I just...it’s harder to remember. And it’s not your fault, it’s just the way it is, but it makes—it makes these moments all the more...precious. To me. I guess I just never expected—”

“Expected what?”

She frowns slightly, her fingers caressing his nose, his forehead, the side of his mouth. “You’ve regenerated recently, haven’t you?”

“Couple months.”

She nods. “I guess I just never thought it would be so instantaneous. The difference between—”

“How he treated you and how I do,” he fills in, and River bites her lip. 

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter. It’s always mattered, I—” He exhales sharply through his nose. “It’s going to take a while, isn’t it? Convincing you?”

River smiles, and he knows she’s remembering. “A bit,” she admits. “But you were wonderful. You _are._ ”

He nods, but his eyes still study her, watching for breaks in her armour. “I don’t want you to be surprised, River,” he murmurs, low and gruff. His voice still doesn’t sound quite like his, but it makes a shudder go down her spine, and that’s enough for him. 

"I'm trying," she murmurs, and he kisses her cheek, chuckling when she giggles at the stubble on his jaw against her skin. 

"It doesn't bother you, then?"

River smoothes a hand over his chest in question. 

"Older face, older body—"

River closes her eyes and leans her head on his shoulder. "For a Lord of Time you're remarkably vain, my love."

"I'm just checking," he grumbles. "You liked my baby face. Attraction, pheromones, all that nonsense—it can change."

"Did it for you?"

"No."

"Then shut up."

The Doctor smirks against her hair, holding her hand loosely against his chest. 

She falls asleep that way, almost as soon as he quiets, and he spends a few moments just holding her, letting the water warm him all the way through to his bones. It’s easier, when she’s awake, to hide the fear. He does it for himself as much as for her, keeping his emotions tightly sealed, but she looks so vulnerable now, half-curled against his chest, her head on his shoulder, lips slightly parted. The gentle rise and fall of her chest is the only thing keeping him tethered, and it frightens him, the overwhelming rage he feels every time his eyes land on a bruise or a scar. 

But she doesn’t need that. She doesn’t need his anger; doesn’t need him to topple gods or destroy empires. She can do that all on her own, and for the first time, he starts to get it—starts to understand the look she used to give him, when she thought he wasn’t watching. 

She’s never needed him to be the Oncoming Storm or a victorious Time Lord. Never needed a protector, or a saviour, or even a doctor. 

All she’s ever needed was _him_ , just like this. 

_Be a husband._

This time, he’s going to try. 

Rising carefully, he rouses her enough to move her from the bath to the bed, gently drying her off as she mumbles incoherently, batting at his hands. 

“Can do it myself,” she mutters and the Doctor snorts quietly, pulling the covers up to her chin. He turns off the light and moves to leave, but her fingers on his wrist stop him. She doesn’t say anything, just peers at him through a half-lidded eye in the dark, and he knows. 

Moving to the other side of the bed, he climbs in next to her. She’s more comfortable on her back, so he lies on his side and presses a kiss to her shoulder, a hand covering hers over her stomach. 

“Sleep, River,” he murmurs. “I’ll be right here.”


	15. so my body leaves no scar on you, nor ever will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tension drains from his shoulders when he finds her, sitting on the floor, legs dangling out the open TARDIS doors. He stays silent, watching her from the shadows of the hallway for a moment before turning around, fixing them both a cup of tea. 
> 
> She hasn’t moved when he returns, settling next to her, proffering a cuppa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- see part one  
> \- chapter title from 'as the mist leaves no scar' by leonard cohen  
> \- thank you all so much for following this story! i hope you enjoy the conclusion <3

_As the mist leaves no scar_  
 _On the dark green hill,_  
 _So my body leaves no scar_  
 _On you, nor ever will_  
\- Leonard Cohen, "As the Mist Leaves No Scar"

*

She pushes at the suit, fingers clawing the inside of the gloves. The oxygen is running out, the glass in the helmet starting to crack, and everything is pressurised and dark and cold and she wants to scream, but there’s no one to hear it. Water seeps in and her lungs scream and her fingers burn and she tries to thrash, but nothing moves. The suit touches the lake floor. No way out. No way up. She closes her eyes, and when she opens them Clyde is staring back at her with dead eyes—he’s drowned in the lake, mud in his mouth, but he moves anyway, holding her down, hands on her shoulders, pushing her further into the floor, further down, impossibly down, and her lungs fill up. She’s choking on water, on absence, on nothing, and then—

River starts, her ribs protesting as her body tenses and her eyes fly open. Behind her, the Doctor snuffles in his sleep, his nose pressing into her shoulder, and she forces herself to relax. Breathe. 

The room is dim, only a small night light in the corner, and it’s too dark, the covers too heavy, and silently, she slips from the bed. Her head is pounding, her arms sore and legs numb, and she has to pause for a moment, feet over the edge of the bed while she forces herself to take measured, shallow breaths. 

When she’s steady enough, she stands, grabbing her robe from the foot of the bed. She throws a glance over her shoulder to make sure the Doctor’s still asleep, curled into the pillow before she slips from the room. 

It’s a slow trek to the control room, but the TARDIS hums gently around her, calming her frayed nerves, a hushed lullaby only she can hear. 

She’s sweating by the time she reaches the console, leaning on it heavily, a hand soothing over the controls. 

“Hey, Old Girl,” she murmurs. 

The lights brighten a bit, slow and steady for her eyes, and she touches the keyboard in thanks. 

“Fancy a trip?”

She swears the TARDIS snorts at that, but she can feel the soft tilt as she eases out of the vortex, and River smiles. 

“Taking me where I need to go, eh?”

Moving slowly toward the doors, River waits until the TARDIS quiets, a gentle nudge in the back of her mind, before opening them out to the emptiness of space. There’s a planet below, stars in the distance, and with slow, agonising movements, River lowers herself to the floor, legs dangling over the edge. 

Closing her eyes, she leans against the frame, a hand petting the floor. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs. 

The TARDIS warms, the temperature rising slightly, like a cocoon. 

It’s going to be harder than she thought, putting this behind her. She’s survived worse, but for the first time, she wonders if she ever actually dealt with anything, or just shoved it aside, buried in a pocket of her mind and locked it away. 

Absently, she wishes for her parents. She doesn’t know why they stopped travelling with him, after all those years, but she can’t bring herself to ask. He told her, a long time ago, when she was too young to understand—told her they’re safe, and together, and that’s all she can ask for. Despite the longing ache in her chest, her selfish wish for her father’s warm hugs and her mother’s fire, it’s enough. And she can visit them herself, later, and she knows after that nightmare that she’ll need to go, sooner than she wanted. It was bad enough the first time, all those years ago, when he found her—pulled her out of the lake and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and held her on the shoreline. She doesn’t want him to see that, not again. 

In her head, the TARDIS tutts disapprovingly, and River sighs. “You know how he is, Mummy,” she murmurs. “I can’t—” The TARDIS interrupts her thoughts with a spike of light that immediately dims, and River chuckles. “Yes, all right, point made. Anything else you want to discuss?”

As if rolling her eyes, the TARDIS quiets, soft strains of comfort only River can hear. She turns her attention back outside, to the planet below, and lets herself drift. 

\--

He wakes up a few hours later, panicked by the cold sheets under his palm. Blinking in the dim lights, he scans the room. When he doesn’t find her, he throws on the nearest set of clothes, telling himself that it’s fine, that she’s probably just getting a cup of tea, the stubborn woman; but it doesn’t slow his pace as he marches through the halls, peeking in various rooms, muttering obscenities under his breath the whole way. 

The tension drains from his shoulders when he finds her, sitting on the floor, legs dangling out the open TARDIS doors. He stays silent, watching her from the shadows of the hallway for a moment before turning around, fixing them both a cup of tea. 

She hasn’t moved when he returns, settling next to her, proffering a cuppa. 

River smiles tiredly, fingers curling around the warm mug. “Sorry,” she says, before he can scold her. “Just needed some air.”

“You should have woken me,” he grumbles, shrugging out of his jacket to place over her shoulders. She’s in a thin robe he bought for her years ago, and though it isn’t cold, he frets. River rolls her eye at him but says nothing, and the Doctor forces himself to turn away, looking out to the view below. 

“Is that Kar-Charrat?”

River nods, blowing carefully on her tea. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

He nods slowly, watching her out of the corner of his eye. “It’s a rainforest, mostly. Lots of bugs.” He wrinkles his nose. “I hate bugs.”

River smirks. “They’ve got a nice library, I hear.”

The Doctor stiffens. “Hate those, too,” he grumbles, and River looks at him in surprise. 

“I thought you loved books.”

“I do.” She arches an eyebrow but he avoids her gaze, changing the subject. “Wouldn’t have thought you’d be interested, given the species.”

Letting the matter slide, River shrugs lightly. “We all have to face our fears at one time or another.”

“And…orbiting a planet with aqueous-life forms will help?”

“Doubtful,” she says, “But the view is…” She trails off. 

Kar-Charrat sits on the edge of the galaxy, a lone corner of the universe, save for the stars, burning in the distance billions of miles away. From the right angle, the angle River’s put them at, the stars align, like a halo around the planet. He missed it, the first time he was here. He’s glad. 

“I guess I just wanted to see another victory, you know?”

The Doctor nods, setting his tea on the floor beside him. “I brought Ace here once,” he says, reaching for something to say. 

“Did you?”

He frowns. “You didn’t know that?”

“I don’t know _everything_ , my love.”

He snorts. “We’ll fix that soon enough,” he says, rewarded with a warm smile. 

“I’d like that.”

“I know you would.”

She huffs, but leans into him as he scoots closer, wrapping an arm gently around her shoulder. With her tea in her palms, River leans her head against his shoulder. 

“I hope they’ll be all right.”

“The Helkans?” She nods. The Doctor grunts. “They’ll be fine. Build up a great civilsation, peace and justice, blah blah blah.”

River snorts. “There’s something wrong with peace and justice now?”

“There is when it ogles my wife.”

River bites her lip to keep from grinning. “Joni’s a _friend_ , sweetie. Or he was.” Before he can say anything, River quirks an eyebrow at him. “And you’re one to talk.” At his frown, she adds, “Clara?”

"Shut up," he mutters, and River chuckles quietly. 

"Do they all fall in love with you?"

The Doctor huffs, glaring down at her even though she can't see. "Not all of them. Amy--"

"Oh please," she teases. "I know all about that snog."

"It wasn't my fault!"

"Never said it was. We can't help it, you know."

"Help what?"

She looks up at him, her expression warm and soft. "Falling."

The Doctor pauses, licking his lips. "River. You know I don't—"

"I know," she murmurs. He runs a hand up and down her arm anyway. Tucking her head back under his chin, River signs. "I'll have to pay her a visit, after all this is over. I still have to find whoever was buying the gas, and destroy the mines; make sure no one tries again."

"It can wait."

"Doctor—"

"It can wait, River. You need to heal."

She looks up at him, shaking her head. "I'm fine. I still need to—"

"And _we_ will. Time machine, remember?"

River frowns. "You don't have to—"

"I know I don't. I want to."

"What about Clara?"

"She'll keep."

River slaps him lightly on the chest. "You should be nicer to her."

Grousing, the Doctor pokes her gently in the side. "Time. Machine."

"Maybe if you flew her correctly."

"I fly her perfectly," he mutters, praying she doesn't know about his momentary lapse in skill post-regeneration. 

"Whatever you say, my love."

Smiling at the endearment, the Doctor takes her tea and sets it aside, so he can hold her hand. The skin around her cuticles is raw, the nail beds deep purple and red. His jaw tightens, even as he brushes his thumb over her knuckles. 

"We need to wrap those again."

"It can wait."

"River—"

"I just want to sit here with you a while."

The Doctor freezes, thrown by her honesty, helpless to do anything but nod. "Okay," he manages; then, in the same breath, "Stay with me."

"What?"

"Stay here, on the TARDIS. We'll finish up with the Helkans, and you can stay—"

"Doctor—"

"I'm not dropping you off half-healed to deal with everything yourself."

"Sweetie, you know we can't—"

"Why not?” He narrows his gaze. “One good reason, River."

River flinches. "Spoilers."

"That's not a reason, it's an excuse. I'm sick of it."

Sighing patiently, River runs a hand over his chest. "We can't take that chance. Every time I stay too long we risk landing somewhere and running into ourselves, and the paradox—"

"So we don't land."

River blinks, startled. "What?"

"We'll stay here, in the TARDIS. You can get better, and I can—"

"Go mad?" She shakes her head. "It's a nice thought, sweetie, but we both know you'd go stir crazy in a matter of days."

"Maybe not,” he shrugs. “It's been years, River." He says it casually, like naming a star, but the words feel thick in his throat, and River brushes her thumb over his collarbone. 

"I know," she says, but when he looks down, her expression is soft—sympathetic, but withdrawn, and he shakes his head, almost glaring at her. 

"No, you don't,” he snaps. “You don't get it, you—it's been _years._ " 

River stares up at him, a slight frown wrinkling the skin around her eyes, and he can almost see the slow build of understanding, everything he isn’t saying, every word that’s caught under his skin and won’t release. And he’s terrified, for a moment, she’ll leave anyway—like he would have done. Like she should. 

"I can stay for a while," she murmurs finally, and he tries not to let his frustration show.

"No. I don't—stop qualifying it."

"Sweetie—"

"I know, I _know_ that it can't be forever. But the only time you stay more than a few weeks, it's because something's happened. Something's gone wrong, and you stay to take care of me."

"Of course I do."

"So why is this different? I want—I _want_ you to stay until I go mad. Until you can't stand the bloody sight of me anymore, until you're throwing teacups at my head and making me sleep on the sofa—"

The horror in her voice breaks his hearts. "Why? Why would you want that?"

"Because it's better than the alternative. You leaving."

She smiles, then, but it’s so tremulous and broken. "You never did like goodbyes."

"I hate them. But that's not the point.” Sighing heavily, the Doctor scrubs a hand over his face before meeting her gaze, desperate to make her see. “How about, just this once, you let me take care of you?"

"You do take care of me. You found me, remember?"

"No, that’s not—” He huffs, muttering under his breath. “You're gonna make me bloody say it, aren't you?” At her confused frown, so open and willing, the Doctor covers her hand with his. “I want to take care of you, River. I want to bring you scones and tea in bed and wash your hair and fetch things when you need them. I want to fuck up trying to make you soup and read books to you while you rest and be utterly, disgustingly domestic for as long as you can bear it.” Closing his eyes for a moment to gather himself, he says again, almost a plea, “It’s been so long, River. I want—”

Her lips cover his to silence him, and he feels her hand cup his cheek. “Okay,” she whispers, and when she pulls away, her good eye bright and wet and longing, he knows. She gets it. “Okay, I—” She swallows. “I want that, too,” she admits. 

“I know.”

“I won’t make it easy for you. I’m a terrible patient.”

There’s a question in her voice, and the Doctor shakes his head fondly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’m rather counting on that.”

Leaning into him, River sighs, a slight smile on her lips. “What a pair we make.”

“Two psychopaths and a TARDIS,” he grumbles. “We could be a sit-com.”

“Romantic comedy,” she corrects. 

Against her temple, she feels the Doctor smile. “Perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> \- This fic contains graphic violence, including water-boarding, drowning, denailing, burning, and physical abuse. It does _not_ contain or allude to in any way non-consensual sex or sexual violence.


End file.
